


Amygdala Drift

by DarkDreamsOfHannigram



Series: Encephalon Cycle [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep - Freeform, Empathy, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Coercion, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentions of past abuse, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Physical Torture, Philip K. Dick - Freeform, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Synesthesia, mentions of autism, mentions of trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-01 10:51:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16763701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/DarkDreamsOfHannigram
Summary: In order to solve the problem of violence once and for all, humans have employed a mandatory program of genetic engineering to increase the responsiveness of the amygdala. But something has gone wrong, and murders - which humans should not be capable of committing - begin to occur. Set in the distant future after humanity has started exploring space and made contact with intelligent alien species, this AU follows Will Graham, whose sensitivity and empathy exceeds even most altered humans’ capacities. He has been sent to the space station Delta 5 to investigate killings. Despite his wishes, he is paired with the NeuroPsych, Dr. Hannibal Lecter, to find the killer, and to investigate the results of the unexpected genetic drift. Book One of a three book series, inspired by the empathy-based religion Mercerism in Philip K. Dick’sDo Androids Dream of Electric Sheep. Part ofMurder Husbands Big Bang 2018. Art bymferret9.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a murder victim is found on Space Station Delta 5, Will Graham is summoned - despite his wishes - to use his empathic abilities to help investigate. He is joined by the accomplished NeuroPsychologist, Hannibal Lecter.

The preservation instinct was too strong.

This much was obvious. The antique gun trembled in his hand as Gaius held it to his temple. He wondered if it had ever been used in a suicide, back in the old days; imagined some old man, sick with a long-forgotten disease like cancer or emphysema, working up the nerve to pull the trigger. Imagined all the things that would go through his mind. The anxiety building, the options weighed. The gun, cold-pressed to the skin…

He gasped and flung it away. _Fuck_.

The visions of it overwhelmed any resolve he might have had. Another side-effect of the Drift. It was a fantasy, anyway, that he would have been able to actually do it. Stupid and pointless. A risk to even acquire such an item as a 20th-century handgun, let alone the bullets.

He was sure they’d track it to him, so now he had to leave. There was a shuttle back from the moon resort to the station in an hour, and he figured he’d better be on it, employing one of the aliases he hadn’t used before. The compulsion was building again, which is why he’d even tried this little joke of a suicide attempt. Everyone knew the Aberrant couldn’t off themselves.

There was nothing else to do but find the next person who could give him release. The gun might come in handy after all. Station Delta 5 was big and had many dark and disused places.

. . . . .

Ramirez and Jonea arrived in record time. Being dispatched from the moon colony near Proxima Centauri, the journey to D5 was not a short one; but they’d left after less than an hour’s notice.

Two days was fast; but not fast enough for the station Commander, who looked like he’d been operating on stimulant drugs like Sleep-Zero since the incident occurred for which they’d been called out, all this way, to investigate.

"I don’t know why you lot can’t be stationed closer to the further outposts. This is happening more and more. It was only a matter of time it happened here. I’m sure the Aberrant is long gone by now."

The less tactful of the two, Jonea said testily, "We’re not in the apprehending business anyway. You'll have an even harder time getting a Sensitive on its trail."

Ramirez cut in before the Commander could make a sound from his stunned and open mouth: "What my partner is trying to say, is that we’re just here to call out the person you need. Detectives with Sensitivity are even rarer than us ‘lot,’ as you say. We just make sure dispatching them is necessary. And of course gathering evidence so they don’t have to waste their time with the mundane details."

The commander shut his mouth before saying what he was going to say. Instead he mumbled "fine," and stalked off.

The Scene Investigators exchanged _what a clueless asshole_ glances before resuming their work. A storage locker had been found leaking a red substance first thought to be a coolant before it was opened and the body fell out. Pools of blood leaking out of innocuous places weren't exactly on the common, so no one knew what it was right away. And there it lay, partially eviscerated, the tongue and eyes missing, and all of the brain. Shot with an old fashioned bullet straight through the heart, which was a new detail. Murder victims were becoming a usual sight for the select, lucky few who were getting out to these scenes more and more often.

No mistaking this work for anything but that of an Aberrant, but it was not as if they could just ask the Commander about the state of the body. Official communication channels were all open, as they had been for many decades. All sorts of new procedures had to be put in place for these types of things. Now, there was a type of panic button that summoned the Investigators without anything verbal. The Openness Decree had said nothing about that; the procedure skirted the law without expressly violating it.

A false alarm dispatch here or there was worth preventing a Quadrant-wide epidemic of fear. They wore no uniforms, and their ship carried no insignia. Now all they had to do was get the Chief (who some called The Guru) out to the less-busy fueling station so they could give him the assessment in person, and he'd get his best Detective on the case. No one paid any attention to the fuel depots, as they were the least interesting places in the galaxy, and it was a location they could meet halfway.

"Having to do all this in secret is probably what is preventing this from getting solved in the first place," said Jonea regretfully. She cared about ending this business, and was feeling increasingly hampered by all the secrecy. "Maybe this one wouldn't have died..."

"Well we better get the signal sent, hadn't we?" They had their own hotline to the Chief on the ship, and even though it was just a blip in the vast darkness, he'd know what it meant.

. . . . .

Chief Crawford got the signal he feared he would. By then, he'd already had Detective Graham into his temporary office preparing to leave, who was already protesting his travel arrangements. He was unhappy about having to wrest himself from Alpha 7, where he had been happily doing very little, other than interviewing candidates for Detective training. A7 was more like a resort than a Station, being one of the oldest and most settled. Will was uniquely qualified to sniff out Aberrants, even ones who hadn't yet shown any signs, and the work was infrequent and easy. The fueling station was dingy. Will had evidently been availing himself of the station bar, judging by the lack of sleep he seemed to have had the night before.

"I'm going now, and I'm arranging for you to have unofficial transport. You know we can't go together. If we do, it will look like official business."

"I don't know him."

"But I do. Isn't that good enough? You think I'd put you into the wrong hands?"

"I guess that's doubtful, I'm the best piece of livestock in your stable."

Jack grimaced involuntarily at the old metaphor. Living animal protein sources hadn't been...what was the word? _harvested?_ in that way in a very long time. _"Harvested"_ didn't seem like the right word somehow...but he didn't want Will to distract him from what he had to tell him, so he put his puzzlement aside.

"If you don't like the idea of him transporting you, you're really not going to like what comes next."

Will's eyes narrowed. "No," he said, "he's not going to be investigating with me too?"

Now Jack was pleased. It was a petty revenge for the insulting metaphor, but he couldn't help it.

"You don't even know who he is," Jack replied.

"I don't care."

"I wouldn't put him with you if we weren't desperate. There's something about this new Aberrant that you aren't getting. The doctor has worked on them in the past."

"You're telling me he's a NeuroPsych? That's even better. He'll be cutting me open in no time flat."

"He wouldn't dare. Your charm and affable nature make you irresistible."

Will huffed in annoyance. He could see there was nothing he could say to change the situation. "Fine," he said, "when is he getting here?"

Jack replied, "He's already docked. Lucky for you, he has quite the comfortable ship of his own. You'll be able to take it everywhere with no suspicion. I'll be taking you to meet him after you've gathered your things. Meet me at bay twelve on deck 57 in an hour."

"I can hardly wait."

. . . . .

Will was a few minutes late getting to the docking bay. He delayed himself on purpose; he knew it was small of him to do, but he had no other way of registering his displeasure. When he got there, Jack and the doctor were waiting for him, all smiles. The vast expanse of the place was intensified but how empty it was; there weren't any other ships, other than Jack's and this new man's, which was usual for where they were. No one dallied at fueling stations unless there was some sort of an emergency; but it had to be equipped to take on even the largest transports. Not too many places in open space that had the kind of room they did.

"Will, right on time." He wasn't, of course, but that was the only way Jack knew to defuse Will when he was irritated: ignore any small attempts at rebellion.

"This is Dr. Lecter. Hannibal," he added.

"Doctor," Will said stiffly. He wasn't planning on getting on a first name basis.

"Hello, Will." _I guess he is_ , Will thought.

"We must be leaving as soon as possible, so I hope you forgive me if we skip the getting-to-know-you routine," Will said.

Jack frowned. "Now, once you get to Proxima..."

Will cut him off - "I want to go straight to D5. I want to see where the body was found. I don't want you and the Investigators jamming me. You and they can give me your version of things when they get there with you, and by then I'll be able to figure out where to go."

"Fine. I'll meet you in three days. I'm sure you will both have plenty of time to talk in the interim."

With that, Jack turned on his heel and left. The doctor set the boarding sequence, and they stepped inside his ship.

Will had never seen its like.

There was a corridor leading to the flight deck. Instead of the usual blank walls, it was lined with artwork.

"Are these originals?" he asked, a bit stunned that any of these still existed.

Hannibal walked at his side, smiling minutely, pleased that Will was knowledgeable enough to be able to recognize something like that. Few people would be able to.

"Yes. They are all 18th century Earth, of course. Mostly from the European Continent, though some are from the North American. I could tell you the countries, if you like."

"How did you get them?"

"Many of the first moon colonists were of course fabulously wealthy. They brought many of these with them. None are major works, of course, as those would not have been permitted to be taken off planet. But after the Great Economic Collapse of the twenty-third century, they were bought up by traders from the Proxima and Cygnus systems. I have spent many years tracking them down. My assessment is that they at least belong in the collection of a human. When I am gone, they will be bequeathed back to Earth. My custodianship of them is only temporary, and a fitting reward for doing the work of finding them, I think."

Will hummed in a sort of agreement; at least, he couldn't think of a suitable counter-argument.

The flight deck was more spartan, small and unassuming. It was dimly lit, control panels a dull platinum and fabrics the color of red grapes. Noting the complex auto systems, Will imagined Hannibal did not spend much time here. The controls of a sufficiently advanced ship needed only to be attended to in take-off and landing; they could even enter an orbit on auto.

Hannibal sat, and there was only one other place that Will could occupy, just to his right. He perched on the edge of the seat tentatively until he realized he should settle back and strap in; he watched as Hannibal smoothly entered his request for departure on the keypad. Station Control gave him permission right away, and the airlock closed behind the craft. The huge station outer doors slid open before them, and Hannibal eased the ship forward, until it was fully in space.

They sat in silence until the Photonic drive kicked in, and they were well on their way.

"I'd like to show you the conservatory, Will," Hannibal said. "It's much more diverse than my small collection of paintings. I am rather proud of it, and I have so few visitors."

Will wasn't particularly in the mood to be impressed by exotic plants, but was unwilling to push this new relationship in the direction of abject rudeness, despite his lack of enthusiasm for the entire affair.

"Fine," he said as cordially as he could, and followed the doctor down a much darker corridor.

"Your room will be here, across from mine," he said, indicating a cabin with a wave of his hand. "I had your things placed inside when they were brought."

"Mmmph," Will said noncommittally.

They passed the rooms, and the corridor widened. All Photonic ships had conservatories, taking advantage of the oxygen creation the plants provided. They ranged from utilitarian to fanciful, and everything in between. Will was envisioning Lecter's as rare and fine as his art collection. He wasn't entirely wrong, but even he did not expect the sight that greeted him when they rounded the corner to its antechamber.

Conservatories on ships like this needed to be protected, the air they both generated and took in filtered to detect toxins, so an airlock system was used. Will could already see that the place had the tallest clear dome he'd ever seen.

They stepped inside, and Will breathed in the clearest, sweetest air he'd ever experienced.

"You should promote this as a resort," he said, impressed in spite of himself. He'd underestimated Hannibal, clearly. This was not a mere collection of exotics meant to impress, it was a work of art, and of love. Will was suddenly taken with the unusual sense of not having read this man clear enough for his liking, and wondered what else he kept hidden that was not as visible as this garden.

"Thank you," Hannibal replied, trying not to sound too pleased. "I have been collecting cuttings for many years. I make quite sure there are no genetic incompatibilities in having these plants in enclosed quarters with each other. It is not frequently that I can add to it, but I do so whenever possible."

The collection was the most diverse Will had ever seen, on a ship, or anywhere else, even in the great resorts that had been built for relaxation purposes in all the systems. He walked forward quickly, wanting to take it all in with every one of his senses, but felt inexorably pulled towards its center. There was the most sprawling tree he'd come across. Its branches twisted and twined delicately up to the dome, which was so crystal clear, it looked as if the ship was open to space.

"What is this?" Will asked, astonished.

"It is an Ionian specimen, known as "Twisted Heart."

"That's very apt. It looks alive. Pulsing."

"Lay your hand on it, just here." Hannibal indicated a place on its trunk.

Will did, hesitantly, and almost withdrew it back as soon as he touched it.

"It's...warm?"

"It is indeed. It has a most impressive circulatory system, quite like anything on Earth. It was the first specimen here, and everything else has been selected to compliment its life."

Will kept his hand in place, briefly allowing his eyes to flutter closed. He could almost make an empathic connection with it. He'd never had that experience with anything other than a human or human like species, and very rarely a non-sentient animal.

Suddenly dizzy, Will withdrew and took a deep breath. He felt strangely calm, and suddenly very tired.

"I'd like to walk around a little. Can I, alone? For a few minutes..."

"As you wish. I am planning to have our meal ready soon, so I will depart. Do not get lost."

Will could tell he was kidding. Mostly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will explores Hannibal’s unusual ship, and finds it affects him in strange ways.

Will wondered around for a while on his own. It was easier to make the adjustment to such unfamiliar surroundings if he had some time to himself. The garden seemed to be broken up into three sections, rings radiating out from the tree.

The closest arrangement were larger plants that he presumed to be the most effective oxygen producers, not unappealing, but certainly not decorative. The second ring consisted entirely of these plants' diametric opposite - flowers of such variety and heady scents that they almost triggered his synesthesia. He hasn't had an episode of that in months.

The outermost section was edible. It was uncommon to grow food on ships due to the irrigation needs, but he presumed that Hannibal had ways of dealing with such challenges. Will idly touched something that looked like a strawberry; it must have been fully ripe, because it fell off the plant at the slightest touch. Briefly alarmed, he decided he'd better eat the evidence of this small transgression. He closed his eyes and took a bite.

The taste was somewhere between a strawberry as it looked, and a cranberry. The perfect melding of sweetness and tartness. He finished it; Will opened his eyes to see waves of red-purple fading from his peripheral vision.

_Damn it._ _Not now._

He shook his head, and the colors vanished as quickly as they'd come. He'd never manifested a color hallucination from a taste before; usually his episodes were more attached to smells. He figured he'd better not linger in the section with the blooms.

Stepping out into the less visually stimulating airlock, he finished the fruit without any further disturbances. When he was fully out of the conservatory, he noticed the scent of food on the air, something more deeply savory than he'd remembered experiencing before.

Will rounded the corner to a corridor he hadn't been down yet. It led past a room that was filled with books, and it reminded him of pictures of Victorian-era studies that people had in more costly homes. He wanted to look around, but the food was calling to him. The strange fruit had given him an appetite.

Hannibal was putting the finishing touches on an array of dishes laid out on a table the likes of which Will had never seen in old pictures, let alone in real life.

"Will. Are you quite hungry?"

"I'm starving as it happens. What in the systems  _ is _ all this?"

"Most of what you see was grown on this very ship. There are two exceptions."

He began slicing off a wedge of a thick off white- colored substance, and Will was astonished when he figured out what it was.

"That is cheese. The real thing. Where did you get it?"

"I frequent many worlds that have not given up on the craft of food production by hand, using real ingredients. And of course, the items are made ethically. Nothing like the horrors of what one used to hear of in the previous millennium, but of course, even then, true craftspeople treated their animals with decency."

After factory farms of animal-sourced protein had reached a tipping point, and could no longer feed the inhabitants of Earth without an unacceptable depletion of natural resources, plant based foods gradually replaced animal ones. No one alive on the planet was accustomed to eating such things, but off world travel, to which Will was no stranger, brought humans into contact with it now and then. Even so, he had only seen genuine cheese twice before.

"Please," Hannibal said cordially, "sit."

He finished slicing, and added some to the plate before Will. It joined another variety, which was whiter with brilliant blue veins. There were also slices of peaches and apples. Looking at the blue cheese, Will briefly thought it was pulsing; he looked away. When he looked back, it had stopped. But Hannibal had noted his strange expression.

Hannibal placed another dish, this one covered, on the table and sat across from Will, who had begun to taste what had been laid out before him.

He didn't look at the food, but eating it gave him the briefest flashes of sound and visual hallucinations. They vanished quickly, and he hoped they escaped Hannibal's notice.

"This is indescribably delicious," he said despite not wanting to be too enthusiastic about anything.

Taking the compliment graciously, Hannibal nodded.

"I have one other thing to tempt you with. How do you feel about eggs?"

Will tried to hide his surprise. "I haven't ever had them. Isn't it...wrong...to take them?"

Hannibal smiled and said, "Many species of birds produce more than can feasibly be fertilized or cared for even if they had been. They would simply waste. It is no longer possible to raise animals simply to harvest their eggs on Earth as was done in the pre-collapse times, but again, other worlds have different methods."

He took off the lid of the dish, and Will knew the savory smell had been coming from them. He  _ salivated. _ It was simultaneously disconcerting and irresistibly alluring.

Will managed to pull himself together long enough to read Hannibal.  _ He is pleased to be making me feel uncomfortable, but it's without malice. It simply amuses him. _

There seemed no way out of the circumstance other than to eat.

. . . . .

Will was surprised at how fantastic the eggs had tasted. It was the closest he'd ever gotten to eating actual animal flesh, and he was concerned with himself for not feeling guilty about it. The genetic conditioning that the human race had undergone these past few centuries had the side effect of turning everyone into a vegetarian. Humans were now too empathic to kill animals, and one that had extra sensitivity such as Will...he thought the eggs would bother him, but they hadn't. Hannibal's explanation had gone directly to the rational part of his brain, bypassing all that enhanced amygdaloid system which had been so carefully developed.  _ Curious, _ he thought.

He'd had more flashes of synesthesia which vanished as quickly as they started, and he'd managed to get through the meal without falling into it entirely, much to his surprise.

Hannibal poured him a small glass of a light brown liquid. He took it, and savored its scent, which made him feel warm, and somehow safe.

"Have you ever had whiskey?"

"Not the real thing." Will was certain Hannibal was showing off now. No one had real whiskey.

"This was distilled using traditional Earth methods, with ingredients grown from my own personal seed banks. The crafters supply me with a quantity in exchange for them."¶\

Will took a small but focused sip. If its scent had made him feel warm, this was like being enveloped in soft darkness.

"It's fantastic."

"I have quite a few other such things on the ship. I hope that such unusual luxuries will make this journey a more pleasant one for you. I am aware that you prefer to work alone."

Will suddenly felt self conscious at his earlier brusqueness. Hannibal wanted the same thing he did, namely to find the Aberrant. Of this he was certain. There were complex motives that he sensed the doctor was perhaps hiding, but he hadn't pried. That was the important thing.

"I expected you to be much more curious about me, as a NeuroPsych. To ask me questions I didn't want to answer. I hope I didn't come off as rude."

"I am extremely curious, Will. But I do not have to be a Sensitive to know that you wish to have your boundaries respected. I also do not desire to be rude."

For the first time, Will smiled. Maybe it was just the whiskey, but he was starting to feel a prickling of liking for this odd man at the base of his mind.

. . . . .

As soon as Will had gone to bed, Hannibal heard him making distressed noises, even through the room partitions. He waited to see if it was merely a nightmare; as Will had recognized during the evening, he was curious. But he knew well that if he invaded his space or tried to make their acquaintance progress too quickly, he'd retreat.

The sounds went on and on, and increased in intensity. Hannibal was certain this was no nightmare. He'd noted during the meal that Will had strange, intense reactions to things he ate. Will had been able to suppress them, but Hannibal recognized the symptoms of severe synesthesia when he saw them.

He had a decision to make. Either he let Will be, and hope he made it through this episode without any psychological damage, or he could try to assist. The latter could be interpreted by Will as an unwelcome invasion; but Hannibal did not want to miss witnessing it. He'd never seen a Sensitive empath in the throes of such an interesting condition.

Hannibal made the choice to go. He put on a dressing gown over his sleeping attire, and walked across the corridor to room Will slept in; the doors were not solid, more of a thick curtain. Total privacy was not usually called for on his ship. He swept it aside, and there Will lay, sweating profusely, and thrashing in his sheets.

"Will...you must wake up." Hannibal shook him gently, and Will's eyes flew open, staring, but unseeing.

"There's something wrong with me." Hannibal was surprised at how quickly he came to awareness. He reasoned he must not have actually been sleeping.

"Describe your symptoms."

"I've been slipping back into a problem I used to have..."

"Synesthesia?"

"Yes...was it that obvious before? I thought I hid it."

"I believe that to any other person than myself, it would not have been detected. I apologize for my observations, and my current intrusion. I do not think this will cease on its own, which is what I expect you were hoping."

"You're right. It got worse when I layed down. Something about the bed, the sheets. I can't stop smelling roses. It sounds like it would be pleasant, but I feel like I'm suffocating."

"You didn't try to get up?"

"I feel paralyzed."

"You've suffered from sleep paralysis before?"

"Yes, but not like this. Not in conjunction with anything else."

Hannibal stood out of Will's line of sight. He watched him, not exactly struggling to breathe, but near enough to it. He thought about what drugs he had on board that might be able to help, but then a much simpler method occurred to him.

"Will, I'm going to take you into the conservatory."

"How, by carrying me? And why?"

"Yes, I will have to carry you. And I believe I can interrupt the psycho-physiological process that you are experiencing. Do you trust me at least that far?"

"Well, since I'm paralyzed, I guess I have no choice."

"I do not intend on doing anything tonight without your full consent."

Will took the deepest breath he could manage.

"Fine, ok. I'm kind of desperate at this point."

Hannibal carefully put his arms under Will's knees and shoulders. He picked him up with an ease that was surprising; Will didn't know if he was incredibly strong, or if he'd lost more weight than he imagined. The journey to the conservatory door made his head spin; he wanted to close his eyes, to try and shut out at least some of the overwhelming visual stimuli. But the pounding in his head became a series of solemn musical notes when he looked at the dark colors of the corridor. At least it distracted him from the false sense of the flowers.

Hannibal maneuvered them both into the airlock with practiced ease, and soon they were inside. He went straight to the flower garden, and laid Will down in a bed of darkest red roses.

"Close your eyes. Breathe deeply, and allow the scent to penetrate into every part of your lungs. Feel the air down into each alveoli, imagine it seeping into your blood. It is real; what you experienced before was not."

Slowly, Will felt his limbs being able to move again. He sank deeply into the scenario Hannibal had put to him, felt the shifting softness of the rose petals all around him. Plants were so hard to create an empathic connection with; the large tree had been pulsing with life, but smaller plants like flowers were too  _ slow _ somehow. They moved, but too imperceptibly to adopt their perspective.

Nevertheless, he tried. He caught bits and pieces, and it was similar to his episodes during dinner. Gradually, he became aware of the roses in reality, rather than only in his mind. And Hannibal...he smelled like fire, and vanilla, and something Will didn't want to admit was pheromones.

While Hannibal was observing him, Will was doing the same, on a much deeper level. Once he could focus again, he felt the hands on his body, still holding him. On the surface was intellectual curiosity. Beneath that was something like wondering if they were alike. Will supposed in a way they were. They both lived lives on their own terms and in frequent solitude. And yet, there was more...

Hannibal interrupted him when he realized what Will was doing.

"Are you recovering?"

"Yes. I think you can let go of me now. Or at least help me stand."

Hannibal nodded graciously, and helped Will up to his feet with as much dignity as he could afford him. Will rubbed his face, and gradually moved his hand away from Hannibal's shoulder, where he had been steadying himself.

"Can you walk?"

A few tentative steps, and Will made his way to the door.

"If it's ok with you, I'd like another drink. I apologize for keeping you awake."

"I require little rest. Of course. I think you will find my study comfortable."

Once they reached the room, Will settled into a chair, and felt strangely at home. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal shows Will some of the things he’s collected; the Station Commander of Delta 5 proves difficult to work with.

Over the next few days, Will kept a guarded watch over Hannibal, and his own behavior. He had no further episodes of synesthesia, but felt strangely vulnerable. Hannibal, for his part, didn't push to get more familiar. Instead, they shared meals together and he let Will explore the ship on his own. He only requested that Will refrain from going into his medical bay, explaining that the environment needed to stay as sterile as possible. Will was more interested in perusing his books anyway.

The one indulgence Will allowed himself was when Hannibal introduced him to some exotic delicacy each time they ate together. Another rare liqueur, a type of fruit he'd never heard of; but Hannibal parceled them out gradually enough that Will never felt as if he was being made to feel like anything other than an honored guest.

On the final day before they were to arrive at Delta 5, Will came across a small room near Hannibal's study that he hadn't noticed before. It wasn't locked; in fact, it was barely closed. Although Hannibal had only asked that he not enter one area of the ship, this room had the air of the restricted, somehow. Yet he felt irresistibly drawn to it. 

Opening it, he stepped inside. It wasn't much bigger than a large closet, and was lined with narrow shelves. Some had very old notebooks open to certain pages lying on them. Others had single sheets of paper, trapped in thick layers of glass as if to preserve them.

Will stepped up to one of the open sheaves, and read, or tried to read. The writing was hand-done and fluid, running together. No one wrote like this anymore, but he could make out many of the words. Things like "death" and "pain" and "fire" were the most readable ones.

A slight prickling of his neck alerted him to Hannibal's presence at the doorway behind him. He turned around slowly, a blush rising to his neck as if he'd been caught at something.

"What do you think?" Hannibal asked, leaning against the doorway. His manner was one of curious ease.

"I'm confused, first. Second, I feel like I'm intruding."

"You are not," Hannibal replied, moving in next to Will, "and your confusion is understandable. Nothing like this exists anywhere else. It is the remains of a special collection that used to reside in an Earth research facility in the United States in the 20th and 21st centuries."

He looked through one of the notebooks in front of Will, and drew his finger down one of the pages, as if he was intimately familiar with it.

"This was all from something that was amusingly referred to as the 'Evil Minds Museum.' It was a collection of artifacts from people they used to call  _ serial killers. _ "

The page he'd stopped on had a sinister, yet childish drawing of a figure being gutted with a crudely drawn knife. Will was disgusted but couldn't look away.

He cleared his throat. "They called these people 'evil'? They really had no understanding of the issues with the amygdala and the prefrontal cortex, and their relationship to emotion regulation and impulse control?"

"They had some idea, but had no method of contending with it until the genetic therapies were invented. So they collected these things in an attempt to delve into the minds of these individuals. It did eventually lay the groundwork for what came later."

Will swallowed hard. He felt himself being suffused with the feelings that created this drawing, from this long dead  _ evil _ mind. Like he was falling into the paper, breathing in the ink like dark, poisoned waters.

Something about Will's expression caught Hannibal and nearly made him gasp sharply; he caught himself, though, not wanting to interrupt what he was watching unfold. Will's empathy ran deeper than he imagined, even in light of what happened with the tree. That was alive, but the information this paper conveyed was hundreds of years in the past. Yet he took it in as if it was a living thing before his eyes. He could  _ see.  _ He wasn't merely understanding: Will was absorbing.

A few moments in, seconds that felt like hours, Will shook his head before whatever was happening fully took hold. Hannibal let him past, out of the room.

"We have to find these Aberrants. I can't let us as a species go back to...to  _ that." _

Hannibal led him to the study, where he poured Will a glass of the whiskey he had grown fond of.

"Just so. And so we will. We dock in three hours. But I do not think these people represent a return to the past. They are something entirely else."

Will drained his glass, and stared off into the distance for a minute before nodding in agreement.

. . . . .

Commander Froideveaux stood in the docking entryway with his leg shaking; he wasn't aware of it. He'd been in charge of Delta 5 for three years, and nothing like this had ever happened to him in his entire career. He briefly reflected that being in command of a station where a murder occurred was slightly less terrible than actually being murdered, but it still felt like a deep and personal injustice. He loved being the one everyone knew in such a small environment; loved going to the station's bar and meeting travelers from all over the allied systems. Being the big fish in the small pond suited him, and he cringed at the idea of reassignment. He felt equipped to do this job, which was to be sociable and mildly well-organized. Murders were not what he'd signed up for.

He had a decision to make: keep this quiet and get the station secured, or evacuate the place and cause mass panic. If someone else died, he'd be responsible; if everyone in the systems found out this was going on, it could rend the carefully constructed fabric of a society that thought such violence was left in the past. And he would be responsible for that.

_ This Sensitive better be on his game, _ he thought. When the docking sequence was finally complete, he took a deep breath and composed himself as best as he could.

The Commander greeted them as soon as they passed into the landing bay. Will was almost knocked over by the waves of nerves and fear coming off the man; this was the prime reason he wanted to work alone. The crushing weight of responsibility the man felt would interfere with his assessment; he needed to get away from him.

Hannibal evidently understood this, because he stood in between them. He laid a gentle, reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. He relaxed a little immediately.

"Commander Froideveaux, if you would show us directly to where the body was found. Crawford and the others will be here soon. It is vital to Detective Graham's methods that he see it before anyone provides him with specific details."

"Of course," he said with resolve, "I want this dealt with. Come."

Will was visibly relived the nervous man hadn't tried to talk to him. Hannibal had sensed his problem, and intervened. He was beginning to be grateful for Jack's insistence they arrive here together. Maybe Crawford understood more than he gave him credit for.

"Have there been any transports off the station since the body was found?" Will asked as matter-of-factly as he could.

"No, of course not. Only the Investigators were allowed to leave, and you are the only ones besides them that have even arrived. We've been able to keep up a lie about a widespread systems malfunction, but it can't go on."

"So he has to still be here..." Will trailed off. "He'd be desperate to leave by now. Running would be his first and strongest instinct."

"You can take us straight to the site, yes? And then afterwards, there is some place we can work without being interrupted?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes, I thought of that," the Commander said, pleased with himself.  _ He must've had connections to get this job,  _ Will thought.  _ He's a glorified secretary on a far-flung space junction where no one would've ever expected anything like this would happen. He's in completely over his head. _

They were nearing a series of storage lockers that contained spare parts for the station cooling systems. These facilities were powered by photonic storage batteries that could easily overheat, so these systems were meticulously maintained. The killer obviously knew nothing of these mechanics, otherwise they would've hidden the body somewhere more remote.  _ Unless they were desperate or rushed _ .

Finally, they reached the row where the specific locker sat. It was cordoned off, and Will was relieved to see few footprints. The scene was relatively untampered.

"He had enough knowledge and sense to break in without making it look like he did." Will took it all in a bit at a time. Right now he was focused on the closed door of the unit. No scratches visible...he started to notice the nervous tapping of the Commander's foot.

Hannibal saw he was getting distracted.

"Commander Froideveaux, our Detective works best with a little solitude. I hope you understand. Please, can you show me to our private office?"

The Commander was concentrating on Will's face, and startled back to awareness.

"Yes. Yes of course. Please, come."

He bustled out of the room, allowing Hannibal a moment to talk to Will alone.

Hannibal touched Will's shoulder gently, and said, "I will send you the location to meet within the hour."

Will nodded, grateful for how much this strange new acquaintance seemed to anticipate his needs before he had to articulate them verbally. He made sure Hannibal had access to send directions to his wrist communicator; he was amused to see Hannibal had a hand-held device, opting to wear an extraordinarily anachronistic  _ watch _ on his arm instead.

Once he was finally alone, Will stepped past the security line. He had evidently been granted access, for no alarms sounded. He pulled a white cloth glove out of his pocket and opened the locker.

Inside, it was sprayed with blood. The victim's heart had clearly still been pumping for at least a few seconds before death. He frowned when he realized they must have cleaned the blood off the floor. The scene had been altered after all. It would be better if it had been left intact, but the interior would probably be sufficient. He stepped back and closed his eyes.

_ It had to have been done incredibly fast. The brain extracted before the heart stopped entirely? The killer would've been soaked in blood. Enjoyed it for a few moments before changing. Had to have been covered head to toe. Bagged it, changed into something waiting nearby. _

Will came out of it, and checked for any other unlocked containers nearby. Sure enough, there was one in the next row, telling spots of blood on its floor. They hadn't even bothered to check anywhere else when doing the hasty clean up.

He sat down in front of the first locker and let his mind go. It wondered down new dark paths that went further than any he'd explored before. What it must be like to be that strong and quick in killing...some of the act done with bare hands...the sound of the laser knife as it slid through bone. Despite the murder's success, it would have been over far too quickly to be truly satisfying. He'd have to make up for it in quantity what it lacked in quality.

When Will finally looked at his wrist, it was 45 minutes later. He'd spent the better part of an hour fantasizing about killing. He rubbed a hand through his hair to find it was slightly damp.

As if on cue, his communicator lit up with a message from Hannibal, providing a ship schematic of where their temporary base of operations would be. He left the storage area quickly, feeling like he was being watched.

. . . . .

"Will. Please come in, and close the door."

The room was small, and extremely spare. Will sat down in one of the three chairs.

"I hate to say it, but this room is perfect. When we talk to potential cases, I mean. No distractions."

"That is fortunate, because I have some disheartening news. The Commander has looked at arrival and departure records and has determined that the dates don't match up."

"Meaning?"

"That our killer has likely been here for some time, and has been falsifying arrivals and departures over the last few weeks, to muddy the waters. He must have been here for quite some time."

"So we can't really narrow it down."

"Not as much as we'd like. But when Jack and the Investigators arrive later, we will discuss strategies."

Will tipped back in his chair and balled his fists into his eyes. Hannibal noticed his anxious fatigue.

"How was your time at the scene of the death?"

"He won't stop of course. And I think this wasn't the first time."

"There may be other deaths that Jack may be able to tell us about."

"Or, more likely, the information has been suppressed to stop a panic."

Hannibal felt the weight of responsibility that radiated off of Will like heat. He put his hand on Will's shoulder and was pleased that he didn't flinch.

"I just had another troubling thought, Hannibal. What if this wasn't the only murder  _ on this ship?" _

Hannibal sat down and looked at Will with a mixture of detached clinical interest and personal awe.

"It would fit this killer's profile," Will continued. "He is experienced, and this is a perfect place. Especially if he met the Commander. He'd know it was relatively lax around here."

"Should we explore? I can pull up some schematics to see where the likely places are," Hannibal said.

"Why not?"  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will go to the infamous bar on Delta 5 to look for answers.

Hannibal and Will spent a few hours combing through various disused and quiet spaces in the station. The only thing they turned up was discarded, bloody clothes. These they brought back to their staging office with a note for Crawford to have them DNA matched when he and the Investigators arrived.

Tired and slightly disheartened, they decided to stop by the infamous Delta 5 bar (colorfully and unofficially known as “The Black Hole” for its darkness and tendency to swallow patrons up for days at a time) to regroup.

The place was legendary. This far out into the quadrant, it was the crossroads for many of the more far-flung members of the allied systems. A tall being with dark red skin and no nose or ears, but otherwise human-looking, eyed them with too much interest as they took their seats at the dimly lit bar.

"I guess we look out of place somehow," Will said, getting a distinctly unfriendly feeling from the individual watching them.

Hannibal turned to their observer, and smiled wide, flashing his teeth. Will hadn't noticed before how feral they were. The red humanoid turned away with an annoyed look.

"Likely he thinks we're trading regulators of some kind. He's a Dengan, a species known for skirting the limits of Federation laws. I've found a few restricted Earth artifacts in their possession previously."

"And no doubt you 'rescued' said items," Will replied.

Hannibal smiled, this time with his lips closed.

The place was only moderately crowded. Will looked at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He noticed how tired he looked, and extremely incongruous in comparison to all the other people and beings laughing and talking behind where he was sitting. A large man in a battered leather jacket slapped the shoulder of a harried-looking spices trader; two elegant, lithe creatures with long silver hair cuddled in a booth in a corner. Will looked away, suddenly embarrassed to be spying on them.

He studied the bottles behind the bar on thin, clear glass shelves. They contained mostly green, blue, and clear liquids, but his eyes alighted on one that contained an amber-colored one.

Hannibal noticed his interest, and said, "Will. We have a long evening ahead of us. Please permit me to buy you a drink. That one is a Cygnan whiskey. I know you will enjoy it - it has a distinctive smoky flavor that your newly educated palate will detect."

He caught the bartender's eye, whose mouth twitched in an involuntary smile. He looked as if he wanted to be coy, and was failing at it entirely.

Hannibal asked for the whiskey, and the man poured it with a practiced, graceful ease.

"I haven't seen you two in here before."

"You must see a lot of people and others. What makes you would remember us?" Hannibal asked.

"Oh, I'd remember. We usually don't get attractive human couples this far out in the quadrant, away from any fashionable planets."

Will visibly started, and said, "Oh, we're not...I mean..."

Hannibal lightly put his hand on Will's back, and he stopped taking.

"What my colleague here is saying is that we are here in an official capacity, and we'd like to keep our visit as unobtrusive as possible. You understand," he said to the bartender conspiratorially.

_ Drawing him into his confidence. Making him feel like he's in on something. Very good, _ Will thought.

"Ah, yes. The killing."

"I thought you would know something about it. You probably know any number of secrets," Hannibal continued.

"Well," the man said, lowering his voice and glancing around, "no specific details, but I know this station  _ intimately. _ My name is Antony. If there's anything I can help you with..."

Will finally pulled himself together and followed Hannibal's lead.

"We were in fact wondering if there's any places in the station that aren't on the schematics."

Antony nodded, pleased he could be useful.

"You have the official plans?"

Hannibal brought out his handheld, and pulled up the master map.

Antony zoomed in on a particular section while Will sipped his whiskey.

"You have seen the circuit ports? The ones that are about the height of a small humanoid?" Antony asked.

"Yes," Hannibal answered, "they seem to appear in clusters near corridor junctions."

"Well spotted. But what you don't know is that some of them are false. They were meant to cover access ports for equipment that was never installed, after costs ran too high."

"And you know which ones?" Will asked.

Antony tapped on one and it glowed green.

"Here...," he tapped another, "and here. If you give me a moment, I'll mark them all off for you."

He poured Hannibal the same as Will was drinking, and tapped away on the device until twenty or so ports were marked.

"There. These have several uses. Some store emergency equipment now, but all of them interconnect. If you were looking for a place to hide yourself or evidence, this would be the place."

"How can we show our gratitude, Antony?"

"The pleasure of your company. Please, when you have finished your investigations, come back and we will have a more interesting conversation."

Hannibal inclined his head, and Will tried to smile. The man was attractive, with a mature grace, and clearly used to getting his way.

"And of course, I appreciate your discretion. Commander Froideveaux doesn't know that I have this information. He allows me to stock certain intoxicants that are not technically allowed on stations. But he's a frequent guest in my establishment, and I show him certain professional courtesies. I would hate for our relationship to become strained."

Will felt Hannibal's foot nudge his under the bar. He smiled more convincingly this time.

"It's the least we could do."

Antony's eyebrow arched almost salaciously.

. . . . .

Will and Hannibal rounded a corner to the nearest corridor that contained a false door. It wasn't locked; apparently the decoy front was considered security enough.

They soon got used to being able to tell the difference between the real ones and the fake without having to use the map. Looking inside, walking a few feet down the corridors; it was getting tiresome and after two hours they nearly decided having Jack's people do this would be a better use of their time.

But then they saw one that seemed to have its handle smeared with a small quantity of blood. It was nearly the same color as the door, dried and almost black. But they'd gotten so used to spotting minor anomalies that it stood out.

Will was instantly gripped by a foreign sensation, of being not completely himself; or rather, something new was augmenting his consciousness, overlaid on top of his own. He'd never been to an undisturbed murder scene. They had always been secured and confirmed to  _ be _ murders before troubling to call him out. The others who had been on the scene would jam him in a way that, prior to this, he considered a nuisance. Now he wasn't so sure they were.

Hannibal noticed his unease.

"Will? What happened here? Can you tell me?"

The question focused him, and he stood up straight, drawing in a deep breath.

"There's no distractions here. No nervous energy from other investigators. No buffer."

"I don't distract you?"

"No...no, you feel different. You're not scared."

They glanced at each other, and Hannibal took a cloth from his pocket, and used it to open the door. When it opened, there was a hissing sound, as if air or gas escaping.

The body that slumped out of the locker-like compartment was surprisingly intact, except for missing the top of its head. That was sitting behind it.

Will stepped back and let it fall all the way out.

"These wounds..." Will pointed to the ones on the head, just at the base of the neck. Some were superficial, but one appeared quite deep.

"They're the cause of death. They exhibit a kind of hesitancy that the other body didn't have," Will said.

The brain was missing as was that of the body that had been found.

"You think this was an earlier kill? Despite the lack of decomposition?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes. I'm not sure how."

"I believe that the capsule was full of an inert gas," Hannibal said. "It preserved the corpse. Will...why is he taking the brains?"

"It's not a trophy if that's what you're thinking. Other than that I'm not sure why. I think he'd take something easier than that if it were. No. There's a practical reason."

Hannibal smiled minutely.

They stood in silence for a few moments before Will spoke.

"Let's see if Jack is here yet. It's time to shut this station down."

. . . . .

The station Commander was at first livid that his position of power was effectively lost; but when Jack berated him for not telling Hannibal and Will about the hidden passages and storage areas right away, he backed down quickly.

"Why didn't you tell them about those places immediately? Where else do you think this killer would have hidden bodies?" Jack demanded.

Froideveaux stammered, "I didn't think anyone knew about them!"

"Someone did. How do you explain Detective Graham and Dr. Lecter finding out about them?"

"Why don't you ask them?"

"It's no longer any of your concern. We're taking over security and evacuating this whole place."

"That's going to cause a mass panic, and it will be your responsibility!"

Jack's eyes narrowed. "If anyone else dies, and you've stood in my way, the fault will be yours. You have a slight, and I do mean  _ slight _ , chance of keeping your command if you do exactly what I say."

Crawford had dispatched Ramirez and Jonea to the scene where Will and Hannibal remained until they got there. They started collecting blood samples, opened all the connected passageways, and cleared everyone out of the area.

Ramirez had met Will before, but Jonea hadn't.

"You're him, huh? I think I was expecting someone taller."

Will opened his mouth to utter a retort, but Hannibal touched the small of his back, and he only glared.

"Inspector Ramirez," Will said instead, "it's been a few years."

She nodded, and glared at her partner.

"What do you think Crawford will do now?" she asked.

Hannibal interjected: "What can he do but issue a general evacuation order?"

"And you are?"

"This is Dr. Lecter."

"Ah, of course you are! Crawford has spoken of you often. Tell me, Graham, how did he convince you to travel with a neuropsychologist?"

Will bristled slightly. "He didn't give me much choice. But it's been...okay."

Hannibal moved his hand away, and inclined his head cordially.

They left the Investigators to their work.

Crawford met with Hannibal and Will afterwards; he observed that Will looked tired and haunted.

"We have to arrange to get several ships out here. I want you to interview everyone before they depart. You think you can flush our killer out?"

Will sighed heavily. "Yes, Jack. I think I'll know him."

. . . . .

There was a profile; Will was certain the killer was a human male, between 20 and 50 years old. They interviewed everyone before letting them get on the evacuation ships, though, to not give the profile away. Will got the ones that matched his criteria, while the others went to Hannibal or the Investigators.

It had taken two days and they still hadn't spotted him. Will had a button under his interview room desk that he could signal Hannibal to come in if he thought he might have a hit.

He'd pressed it only twice so far. The first one was acting suspiciously, avoiding eye contact. When Hannibal came in after being summoned, the man - a squirrely looking trader with sallow skin and a prosthetic right hand - was so intimidated by the doctor, he immediately confessed to dealing illegal aphrodisiacs that were made from a species of Arcturan beetle. Too much led to paralysis, but that didn't stop the bartender from selling them at a stiff profit.

They let it slide, not wanting to betray Dimmond, and to keep their promise. They hadn't even told Jack about him being the source of the schematics. Hannibal just told the trader not to return.

The second time Will thought he might have something he had asked a man where he was traveling to, and he became very evasive. He pressed the secret communicator button, and a minute later Hannibal knocked on the door.

As soon as he saw Hannibal, the man's eyes flew wide and he tried to bolt out the door past him. Will was so surprised, he fell back from his chair. He was in part taken off guard from the sudden movement, but also because he hadn't predicted the man's shift in emotional balance at all. It was uncharacteristic of him to have missed it.

Before Will had scrambled to his feet, Hannibal had caught the fleeing man, and had him pinned against a wall by his bent back arm.

"What...?" Will started, as security came to investigate the commotion.

Hannibal handed him over without a word. Once the two security officers manhandled the panting suspect off to a holding cell, and they were alone, Will got his explanation.

Smoothing his hair and adjusting his sleek silver-grey jacket, Hannibal glanced around to see if anyone was listening.

"A former patient of mine. He has managed to develop an unusual ability..."

"He shielded his emotions from me. That's never happened before," Will interrupted.

Hannibal nodded. "He was brought to me, by the authorities, in order to see if his condition could be reversed. You can imagine the fear that would spread if it was revealed such a capability existed."

Will was brimming with questions.

"Are there others? Can it be reversed? How did he end up here...?"

"We cannot discuss this now. I am guessing your interviews are over for the day in light of this event. Come, we will go to the station bar. We won't be overheard. And I suspect that we should also reassure Dimmond he is not found out."

Once Will had given Crawford a brief explanation of what had happened - omitting what Hannibal had told him - they went to the lower deck where the bar was located and found it relatively deserted. Antony had been allowed to stay, along with the station crew. They'd all been vetted and none of their number was a killer. But the normally boisterous place, always full of traders and travelers, was reduced to a hush of muted and nervous conversations.

Dimmond spotted them immediately and discreetly motioned for them to come over to the empty bar front.

"I think if you'd given me away by now, I would have known. Thank you."

Hannibal nodded and Will tried and failed to look relaxed.

"Look...," Antony continued, "when this is all over and there's a return to some normalcy, I'll share another piece of information with you. There's a group of people you should see, on one of the unaffiliated worlds."

"Not telling us now?" Will asked.

Dimmond smiled. "Not just yet. A little insurance. Sorry if you don't yet have my complete faith."

"I imagine that's wise," Hannibal said mysteriously, before they took their leave to a more isolated corner.

Hannibal took a deep breath before trying to answer Will's earlier questions.

"I will start with the end and work backwards. I have no idea how my former patient ended up here. I suspect in much the same way that our killer did; this is a far-flung outpost and the Commander is not terribly competent."

"What is his name?"

"Sykes. Solomon Sykes. As to whether his condition can be reversed, I believe I was on the verge of a breakthrough when he escaped."

"And? Is he the only one?"

"To be unreadable? As far as I have seen, yes."

Will looked relieved, until he read Hannibal's expression.

"That's not the only anomaly you've seen, is it Dr. Lecter?"

"Quite right, Will. Aberrants are only one of many new conditions that have begun to emerge."

Will stared off into the distance for a few moments, coming to his own conclusions.

"It's evolution, isn't it? We're evolving past our conditioning."

"Yes, Will. And I believe you are a part of that natural process. Sensitives are all a part of it, but when I saw what you could do with the tree. And the eggs, and the book in my research room..."

"What are you saying, Hannibal?"

He reached across the table and laid his hand over Will's, as it was beginning to shake a little. He had figured out what Hannibal was going to say, and it terrified him.

"Will...I believe you can  _ turn your empathy off." _  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will deals with learning a new truth about his condition; Hannibal has a difficult conversation with Jack about the murderers.

Will wasn't sure how to respond to the knowledge that his empathy could be manipulated, but it didn't surprise him.

"That makes a lot of sense, actually. If others have that ability, it would explain how these murders are occurring in the first place."

"Does it concern you? About yourself?"

Will considered this a moment before answering.

"I can't think about that right now. We have to focus on these killers. You and I will have plenty of time to explore the issue, I imagine."

Hannibal sat back, pleased.

"Come. We have to tell Jack what we are really up against. I think there will be a large social impact once these things get out. He will want to try to get ahead of it."

"He'll want your help," Will said.

"Yes. And yours."

Half an hour later, they were sitting in front of Jack in one of the improvised interrogation rooms. There were still about fifty people left to question and time was beginning to press on Crawford.

Once Hannibal had explained about Sykes, Jack's lips became a grim line.

Will tried to sum up the situation as best as he could: "We have to find these people. Something is changing in the genetic conditioning we all were relying on to be relatively stable. It's beginning to look like some kind of cascade effect."

"Genetic drift shouldn't be happening this fast, Will," Jack said.

"No," Hannibal said, "it should not be. Perhaps there is outside interference."

"Somebody's changing them?"

"I believe they have certain natural tendencies that are being augmented."

Jack and Will both looked at each other. Hannibal hadn't shared this information with Will, and it took him by surprise.

Will had a sudden flash of understanding, though. He said, "You think we need to track them down."

Hannibal smiled. "Just so."

Jack eyed the pair of them. "Dr. Lecter, how long have you known about this?"

"Known? I did not know, but I suspected. The events on this station, and the last man we placed in custody, have confirmed my worst fears. Further, I believe that even if augmentation is being done, there is still a level of natural development that no one can yet quantify."

Jack sighed. "When this immediate problem is over, you two will get to the bottom of this?"

"I think we'll have to," said Will, resigned.

"Meanwhile," Hannibal interjected, "there will have to be warnings issued. The governors will be unable to hide this."

Jack said, "Even before that, you still have a number of subjects to interview."

"Yes Jack, I'm ready to spend another fascinating afternoon asking potential psychotic murderers questions about their mothers," Will said sarcastically.

Jack only smiled. "I'll leave you to it, then. Doctor Lecter, we have a few left for you too."

They left Will in the room, and he idly fingered the emergency button under the desk, wondering if he'd have to use it again.

. . . . .

Twelve interviews later, and Will was getting bored of talking to all these people. Many of them had spent years bouncing around from one station to the other, getting tied up in shady deals with traders from the outer systems. It was easy to see past their worries. These men were afraid of being outed for something minor, which made their fears rise to the surface. Not about deeply rooted personality issues, petty infractions of rules that probably did more harm than good.

The tall man with hair so blonde it was almost white that came in next didn't interest Will any more than the previous ones. He sat down and seemed as bored as Will was.

"So," Will began as he had with all the others, "you know why you are here?"

"Yes, and my name is Gaius. I knew you already know that but I'm skipping to the part where I tell you why I'm on the station. There's been a number of murders. I'm here because of a package I'm supposed to pick up from some Lyrans, and deliver it to the Great Temple in the Reticulum cluster before their solstice. I'm in grave danger of missing my transport and losing my reputation."

"You're very forthcoming."

"I'm very late."

"I have a question for you," Will continued calmly. "Have you ever consumed any eggs?"

For just a moment, the man's pupils widened before returning to normal. Will pressed the button under the desk.

"Of course not," Gaius said convincingly. "Have you?"

Without missing a beat, Will said, "Yes. Do you think there are any circumstances under which this would not violate our principles of empathic considerations above all else?"

"I have never thought about that."

"Think about it now, and tell me."

"If you or others were starving, and there was no other source of food."

"Tell me, would the same principle apply to human flesh?" Will asked.

Again, the widening of the eyes, until he regained control.

"You know it does. We have been taught this. Flesh of any kind is only permissible under duress. And animal flesh or products is no different than human."

"That is what we have been taught. But yet you didn't question me when I said I had eaten eggs. Did you assume it was under extreme circumstances?"

"I have to."

"What would the alternative be?"

"That you lack empathy."

"Tell me," Will asked, "if you didn't know anything about the eggs, how would you be able to tell if I had an empathy deficiency?"

"Asking you questions about things designed to provoke an autonomic response, perhaps out of guilt or fear of discovery."

"And I would never know I'd given myself away."

Gaius opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to figure out what to say. Then, as if ice was melting behind his skin, his expression changed. The facade of irritable confusion at being inconvenienced had vanished, and was replaced by malevolent amusement.

Will had begun to wonder where Hannibal or Jack were. It seemed like he'd hit the alarm a long time ago now, but it was only a couple of minutes.

Just then, they both noticed footsteps coming to the door, and they looked at each other for a time span that seemed, to Will, drawn out from fractions of a second. Gaius had decided in that moment that he was cornered, and if he was to act, it had to be before Will had someone else in the small room on his side.

In a terrifyingly fast and smooth motion, the man knocked his chair back towards the door. It smashed the control panel, rendering it inoperable. Almost simultaneously, he sprang forward, jumping the desk, and had his hands around Will's throat.

The instant before Gaius had acted, Will felt the change in his mood, saw it flicker across his face. He had just enough time to take hold of his writing instrument, an old-Earth pencil that many times he'd been mocked for using by other investigators. As the crazed man's hands closed around his flesh, thumbs digging cruelly into his windpipe, he brought the pencil up and stabbed Gaius right in the carotid artery. Shock flooded his face, and when Will pulled it out, his hands fell before his body did.

The attack was over in under ten seconds; Will became aware of a pounding noise which he at first mistook for his heart. But it was Jack and Hannibal banging on the door, who had not even yet realized the locking mechanism was jammed. The room was a haze of red to Will; he realized he had Gaius' blood in his eyes, and stumbled backwards. He darted right, jumping over the still-twitching body, its life all but extinguished.

By the time he managed to open the door a minute later, Gaius was dead.

. . . . .

Jack was extremely displeased with Will for killing their murderer. He had wanted nothing more than to interrogate him for hours; Will never understood why Jack loved a good interrogation so much, but Crawford was clearly unhappy he'd been deprived of it. They figured he would have been able to quickly escape through the ceiling ventilation grate after killing or incapacitating Will and blocking the door.

Focusing on that helped a little. Will had spent the next two nights after the attack failing to get sleep. Not even the dream suppressors fended off the nightmares, and he'd stayed away from Hannibal who consistently looked like he wanted to talk about what happened. Will did not. So he wasted many of his waking hours at the bar, and Dimmond was being tight lipped. That suited Will fine, even if the man's longing gazes did not. But the station was gradually filling up again after people were allowed to come back. The Delta Five drinking establishment was a place he could lose himself in watching petty arguments and semi-legal dealings.

However, he figured talking to Hannibal would be unavoidable for two main reasons; one, that he was exhibiting signs of a complete mental breakdown, and two, that they would be leaving together soon. One thing he had talked to Dimmond about was a conversation the bartender had had with Hannibal after Gaius had been caught. He had told Hannibal that group of separatists had set up some kind of evolutionary experiment colony, and that was where they were headed next. Crawford suspected Gaius had perhaps been in contact with them.

On the third day after the fight, Will was sitting in what had become his dark corner of the bar when Hannibal came in and sat down across from him. He looked so out of place here, Will reflected. He was wearing a high-collared black jacket that showed off his lithe frame. By contrast, Will was wearing an ill-fitting spacesuit, as he often was, undone to the waist to reveal a plain synthetic cotton shirt. Whatever material Hannibal was clothed in, it surely was genuine. Will wondered if it might be silk; he'd never seen it in person before, so he couldn't say for sure.

"Hello, Will. You know we must be leaving this place soon, as much as I dislike having to tear you away from your new home."

Will snorted with derisive laughter in spite of himself.

"I'm sure I can find another seedy station bar the next place we stop."

Hannibal was pleased to see him smiling; it looked as if he hadn't done so in as many days as he hadn't shaved. The dark circles under Will's eyes betrayed his sleepless nights. But before Hannibal could bring up the subject of what happened, Will surprised him by doing it himself.

"I know you're going to want to talk to me about what happened."

Hannibal nodded. "Jack Crawford has been chastising me for not chasing you down myself."

"Why didn't you?"

"I wanted to give you some time to live with the consequences of your actions. To let them settle before we dig them up again."

Will rubbed his eyes and the side of his neck. "Yes, well. I think that I'm not settling very well, if my lack of sleep has been any indication."

"Have you been having nightmares?"

"Yes," Will answered in a small, quiet voice.

"We can work on the nightmares. Any synesthesia?"

"A few times, verged on it, but never crossed that line."

"I think we need to push you over that line, Will. You seem disconnected, and I believe it will help to bring you back."

Letting out a long, shaky breath, Will nodded.

"When do we leave? And how long until we arrive at our destination?"

Hannibal said, "Right away, if you can. And I believe our journey will take approximately five days. You need to be in better shape by then, Will. Resting and talking with me. Spending time alone in the garden, among the plants. And I also prescribe an assortment of food and wine. You are looking malnourished."

Will smiled, a little. As much as talking with the doctor seemed like the last thing he wanted to do, the man did have excellent taste in food and drink, and he had to admit it tempted him.

"Looks like you're going to get the chance to get into my head after all, Dr. Lecter."

"You must believe that I regret the circumstances."

Will's face grew dark again, and he slumped in his seat.

. . . . .

Hannibal gave Will his space on the first night of their journey. Will had not even stayed on the bridge for the departure from Delta 5, and went straight to the garden as soon as he'd stowed his few belongings in his cabin. He found a small grassy place near the tree, and rested there a while; he wasn't touching the massive plant, but its roots reached so far throughout the conservatory, that he felt connected to it even far away. Laying on the ground, he imagined it was taking in nutrients and water, in a vague approximation of a heartbeat. He dozed off, and his own circulatory system slowed and synced with that of the tree.

When he woke, he was hungry, for the first time since the killing, and was surprised he had no dreams whatsoever.  _ I wonder if I should just sleep here for the duration,  _ he thought. He was somewhat shocked to discover he'd slept for about four hours, though it had only seemed like minutes. As soon as he stepped out of the conservatory's air lock, he caught the scent of something utterly delicious; a mingling of spices and some kind of bread baking.

Will didn't have to wander long until he found the location of whatever fabulous meal Hannibal was preparing. He found him in the small dining room off the galley kitchen.

"I was about to see if I could locate you," Hannibal said, looking up just briefly from his work.

There were a number of small dishes laid out before him, all steaming hot, and spiced in a way that was wholly unfamiliar to Will. There were also small dishes of brightly colored condiments already set out on the small table, and a selection of wines.

"What in the galaxy is all of this?"

"An assortment of traditional dishes from several regions of the Old Earth country known as India. Many of these spices are no longer widely grown on Earth, so it does not surprise me that they are unknown to you. I cultivate them myself, along with various types of hot pepper. But there are vegetables like spinach and eggplant, and legumes like lentils which you will be used to eating."

He went over to a small metal box in the corner, and opened it; Will knew immediately that was the source of the intoxicating bread smell. Inside of that was a kind of clay oven Will had never seen before.

Hannibal pulled out two browned and flat loaves.

"Naan made in my small tandoori oven. It heats quickly, evenly, and is extremely hot. Please, sit."

Will had never seen such a varied feast. Hannibal poured a glass of white wine for the first course. It looked like there were at least two more different types of white and two red to accompany the series of dishes.

"The heat of the food will begin as mild, and increase gradually. I hope you are able to stand a robust Scoville rating."

Will nodded, wanting to tell Hannibal that he'd become familiar with very spicy food in various space stations all over the sector, from traders who brought them from their homeworlds, but he was too busy being in ecstasy over the curried lentils and naan he was eating to answer.

They ate and drank in relative silence; Hannibal pouring a measure of a new wine for each new course. Will was getting full, but had no desire to stop eating. He was ravenous, hungrier than he could ever remember being.

Hannibal waited for him to break the silence. Eventually he felt warm from the wine and spices, and realized his humor had improved, so he decided he was fine to have a conversation.

"I appreciate that you haven't tried to talk to me about the death."

Hannibal nodded, and said, "We will have to talk about it, but not tonight. You must calm your mind and at least have one good meal before you will be able to focus. Trying to get you to talk before you are ready would be counterproductive."

Will gestured his agreement with a flick of his head.

"One thing unrelated that I would like to talk to you about is Mr. Dimmond, the bartender. Forgive me for being blunt, but he seemed quite attracted to you. I am sure you picked up on that. You need not be an empath to see it."

Will tried not to show that he was suppressing choking on his food. He certainly wasn't expecting that to come up.

"I did," he admitted. "His interest in me was a bit too...salacious. I'm not used to that."

"Surely you know you are an attractive man," Hannibal said.

"I'm sure you know you are attractive too, yet you travel alone," Will said a bit more petulantly than he intended. "I mean, I think he liked the both of us. I think he likes a lot of people, actually. I didn't take it terribly personally."

Hannibal laughed quietly. "Nor did I."

Still, Hannibal couldn't help but wonder if Will experienced a fundamental disconnect between his emotional acuity and how others perceived him. Another thing he added to his mental list of things he intended to help Will with.

Will, for his part, felt a strange combination of worry and pride.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal discuss what they learned from Dimmond; Hannibal proposes some unusual techniques to help Will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter by [mferret9](http://mferret9.tumblr.com/).

Hannibal had made sure Will had a good night's sleep, free of dreams. Although he didn't like to utilize them very often, he'd given Will some dream suppressors. They didn't work on a long-term basis, and Will had a tendency to use them too often in the past. But he'd been off of them for some time, and Will needed to start the next day free of troublesome memories of the previous night.

He prepared them a simple breakfast, and they ate together while first discussing their itinerary.

"Do you know anything about this separatist colony?" Will asked.

"I have heard a few things from traders and collectors I have had dealings with. Nothing definitive. But they don't accept that human evolution will properly mesh with the engineering that has been done, at least not in the long term."

"Seems they're right," Will muttered.

"Indeed. But as a scientist, I cannot condone uncontrolled experimentation. What they are doing may have merit, but their methods do not."

"What are their methods?"

Hannibal looked away for a moment, worrying at his bottom lip. "I have no direct confirmation of this, but I think they may be using grafts from animal brains. Pigs, to be precise."

Will's eyes flew wide. "That's insane. And completely against the contemporary principles of empathy."

"It would work, though. The brains are close to human in many ways. They could expand the amygdala, potentially allowing the subject to experience an evolved human state, and a more animalistic one simultaneously."

"Would that be enough?" Will asked, growing increasingly horrified.

"No," Hannibal admitted, "they would also have to employ some behavioral techniques to reinforce the new brain pathways. If they used human grafts, it might work on its own. I also do not believe the augmentation will be lasting."

Will thought for a moment. "Do you think that Gaius is what happens when the control begins to slip?"

Hannibal was impressed with Will's instinctual insight. "Yes. It would prove unstable over time, making them dependent upon the group. If anyone were to leave, without the reinforcement I spoke of, the subject would feel compelled to commit acts of violence."

"What sort of behavioral reinforcement would this group be providing?"

"Of that, I am not sure. It would have to be something powerful and physical, and highly intimate. Something they would use together, and act on the mind below the cognitive level."

Will had another of his imaginative leaps. "That sounds like you're describing sex, Hannibal."

For a moment, Hannibal was uncharacteristically speechless.

"I believe you are right. A combination of controlled violence and sex would serve as a substitute for performing harm upon others. And it would be a bonding activity for the group. I think we are going to be finding ourselves in quite the unusual situation, Will. And it certainly would explain Mr. Dimmond's knowledge of them."

"Yes," Will said uncomfortably, "just the kind of place he'd love to take a vacation."

Hannibal laughed quietly in agreement.

They finished eating in silence. After Hannibal cleared their plates, he sat down again to bring up the subject Will was avoiding.

"We must talk. About your experience back at the station, before we engage with this group."

Will nodded in resignation. "I know."

"My study would be the most comfortable and suitable place. In traditional, earlier forms of talk therapy, such a setting would be used often."

"Lead the way," Will replied.

Down the corridor past the sleeping rooms and around the corner lay the place that Will had spent some time in before they'd gone to Delta 5 to investigate the murder. Besides the conservatory, it was the location he felt most comfortable in on the strange ship. It had two levels, and viewports that showed the stars going by. Will felt that if he needed to focus on something else, he could just stop talking at look at them for a while, and this made him feel strangely comforted and safe. He'd spent so much time on space stations, with similar views, and it was familiar even in a different setting.

Hannibal had already set up two chairs in the middle of the room, facing each other. Will hadn't seen them before; they must have been brought up from the hull storage. He wondered what else the doctor had stashed there.

Also present was a bottle of wine and two glasses. Hannibal poured one for Will, then himself, and they both took their seats. Will leaned forward, both feet planted on the floor, as he sipped carefully. Hannibal leaned back, at ease.

"Where do we start?" Will asked.

"Tell me about other times you have been required by circumstance to use violence."

Will let out a breath and took a large drink. "How did you know I had?"

"Intuition that your lifestyle has not always been safe."

"A couple of times in the station at Beta 6...there were traders who thought I was asking too many questions about their activities and I employed self defense techniques to evade them. One time I sidestepped a blow, and a Cygnan lost his balance. He fell and hit his head on the bar. He wasn't seriously injured, but there was a lot of blood."

"What did you do?"

"His friends ran off. While he was unconscious, I put pressure on the wound until the medics got there. I'll never forget how I could practically taste the blood, the scent was so strong. Like iron-metallic but sweet."

"Did the man that died at Delta 5 have the same scent?" Hannibal asked.

"Not entirely. Human blood is much more coppery."

"How did you feel when the previous incident was over?"

"Exhausted. Drained of strength like the fight had lasted much longer. I had several drinks after. That's when I was on much stronger dream suppressants. But they didn't work."

Will idly fingered his glass, and Hannibal filled it halfway again before pressing further.

"What did you dream of?" Hannibal asked gently.

Will looked off into the middle distance for a moment before closing his eyes. Fascinated, Hannibal watched as his eyes traversed under his lids. He was remembering, vividly.

He swallowed hard. "My dream was quiet. It was the opposite of the fight, really. I was in a room with smooth, dark blue walls. Pinpricks of light began to shine through. Then I realized I was in space. The lights were stars. The fight was...chaotic, screaming, hot."

"You experienced the exact extreme on the other side," Hannibal said.

"Yes. And it was terrifying. Almost as if I had sought the quiet, and when I had it, it was just as bad as the desperate wailing of an injured Cygnan in a squalid bar."

Hannibal sat back as Will opened his eyes. He was surprised to find out he'd been on the literal edge of his seat, watching Will intently.

"You descended back into the feeling you had that night," Hannibal said. "Further reason for you to learn to control your empathy. The dream of being in space was just as bad as the confrontation. You need balance in your life, Will."

"It seems so. Especially in light of the fact that we are going to be confronting others who have that control. I imagine that they won't necessarily be receptive to us prying into their activities."

"We will be there investigating murder. Several of them. Almost unprecedented in this age. They will not be wise to be uncooperative, even if they are an unaffiliated settlement. If they rebuff you, a Federation fleet will be soon to follow."

"True," Will said wryly, "but I think some deception may be in order. I need to have control to manage that."

"And I will help you."

"What do you propose?"

"Some distinctly _unorthodox_ therapy. Conducted in the conservatory. You seem to be most comfortable there, and I believe it will be the best place to induce synesthesia."

Will raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you're planning? It makes sense, I suppose."

"Exactly right. You have had near breakthroughs with it, but you pull away from it."

"It's frightening," Will said in a suddenly quiet voice."

"I know. But I will help you. Will, do you trust me?"

"I believe I do. Which surprises me."

"Then you have nothing to fear. I have only your interests in mind."

Will wanted to believe him.

. . . . .

An hour or so later, everything had been readied. Hannibal had turned the lighting down to a level that approximated Earth at dusk; a soft, fading light that made the plants and trees truly look as though they were a section of forest.

Will was dressed in the simplest, most comfortable clothes he had, light pants and a shirt of a soft, thin material. He was uncharacteristically nervous as Hannibal led him to a place near the large tree in the center, a small clearing that was covered by a canopy of branches. The base was warm, soft, and darkly fragrant. Hannibal bade him to sit on the ground, near a rock that he rested on in front of Will, who faced the tree.

"Before we begin, I must warn you," Hannibal began, "there will be a degree of physical discomfort. Nothing that will cause any lasting damage. But as we have established with our discussion of the separatists, there appears to be some connection between experiencing pain and gaining control."

Will hesitated before asking the question that loomed in the forefront of his mind, but felt that he had to. "We also talked about the fact that they combined it with sexual pleasure."

"Exactly so," said Hannibal, "but I do not believe that it is particularly necessary that the pleasure be erotic in nature. I have a different idea."

Will hoped his nervousness, and relief at this statement, didn't seem to overt to Hannibal. He wasn't strictly opposed to the idea, but felt that it would add a dimension to their relationship he was in no way ready for, and he was pleased that Hannibal wasn't trying to force something like that on him. It made Will trust him all the more.

Hannibal took out a small device from his pocket.

"This is a small electrode, that will stimulate the pleasure centers of your brain. I am going to attach to your temple, but I will not turn it on right away. I would like you to fall into your empathetic connection with the tree again. When you are beginning to feel overwhelmed with sensations, and they become confusing to you, I believe this will enable you to tolerate them."

Will cocked an eyebrow, and ran a hand through his hair - he had never considered this method. But he thought it may actually work, if the pleasant sensations the brain stimulation would give him would distract him just enough, put him back in his body, that the conflation of senses would be something he could embrace and not flee from as the always did. Hannibal attached the device to his head, and Will was ready to begin.

"What should I do?"

"Feel the life force of the tree. Just as you did before. I will take care of the rest."

Breathing deeply, Will closed his eyes. He put his palms flat on the ground, over the tree's roots. Slowly the sensation came upon him, a deep thrumming that traveled up this fingers, to his forearms, and then settled into his chest. It synced with his heartbeat, which decreased. He relaxed. Sound began to fill his head, one he could only describe as bluegreen and earthy, which he knew made no rational sense. This was a completely different kind of empathy than with a person. It had no noise, no buzzing distraction of heat and worry. But just as alive. He felt himself smiling.

Just then, Hannibal switched on the machine. He watched as Will's smile grew. Hannibal felt himself relax a little in sympathy, and found himself wistful that he couldn't experience things the way Will did. He had no desire to plunge himself into chaos, falling into the vortex of others' emotions, but there was something alluring about being able to do what Will could do. His commitment to helping Will learn to control this terrible gift grew stronger.

_Drifting. I'm falling into the consciousness of the plants. No thought, only blue and green sounds, like circulation. Could it be...chlorophyll? Water? Something there is no word for. Language isn't necessary to understand._

Will began thinking in images, colors, and sounds. This was the first time he let himself sink into the experience of synesthesia. He'd never been this detached from his mind.

He continued to think in hues when suddenly they shifted from blue to purple, streaks of red shot through like a wild sunset on a blazing desert moon. If Will were using words to describe his feelings, the one he would have chosen was _pain._

But because his state was one of complete openness, he moved towards the intrusion instead of away from it. The sensations that corresponded to the tree felt distant now. Another first; he found he could go from one pole to the other, touching the plant consciousness and leaving it at will.

This went on for minutes, but to Will, there was no sense of time. Eventually, the red began to condense back into purple, like a flower closing up at night. From the other side, the green-blue contracted as well. When Will was able to think normally again, he realized that the pleasure sensors had been stopped, along with whatever it was that Hannibal had been doing to to cause the sensation that hurt.

Hannibal watched closely as Will opened his eyes. They seemed unfocused, and Will leaned forward. Hannibal caught him in his arms before he could sag to the ground.

"Are you able to speak, Will?"

Will tried moving his jaw - _that's how speech works, isn't it?_ \- but nothing happened.

"It will become easier in a few moments. I believe you responded well to the treatment. You will have to tell me what happened when you are able."

It took a little thinking through it, but Will realized there was an odd pain at one part of his scalp. He rubbed at it gingerly.

"Perhaps I should explain. We discussed both pleasure and pain. I was administering the latter by sharply pulling your hair. I do not think I have damaged you."

Will came back a little more at hearing this. It made sense. But it shocked him a little to realize that Hannibal had been doing something to him without him being completely aware of what it was. He tried not to worry about it. After all, Hannibal could have done far worse to him when he was unaware of what was happening.

"I...I think it worked, Hannibal. I turned off my connection to the tree. I have never been able to do that without a jarring feeling of loss."

"We will have to practice several more times before you are able to do this without all the accoutrement."

Will straightened up, realizing suddenly that Hannibal was holding him. He sensed only care and concern, though. He wondered how much Hannibal would do to help him.

"Would you like to lay down? Should I leave you alone?"

"No, I want you to stay. For some reason I don't want to be alone now. Will you stay?"

Hannibal put a reassuring hand lightly on Will's shoulder. "Of course, Will. We can both rest here a while."

They both shifted to sit with their backs against the tree, and sat in silence; something had changed between them, a connection had been formed. Together, they wondered what this bond would forge.  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to the Separatists, Hannibal and Will practice some new therapies.

Over the next four days before they arrived at the separatist colony, Will and Hannibal practiced what they came to term "Empathy Manipulation." Will had a faint sense of unease that they should not be doing this, that it ran counter to the ethos of their very society. As a Sensitive, who investigated and protected that society, he rationally understood that he had to make exceptions for himself. This was not a technique that could ever get out into the public.

He decided to bring his concerns to Hannibal, who after all had to know the weight of what they were doing. Over a luscious meal of some kind of mushroom, sauced with white wine and lemon, Will opened up about his thoughts.

"Will. This technique would not even be possible for most humans, no matter their level of disorder or even augmentation. You are likely unique in your abilities."

He scoffed. "I'm not the only Sensitive. I'm sure you would be able to have similar results with at least some of them."

Hannibal considered for a moment, as if he was choosing his next words very carefully.

"I have been working with a varied cross section of human minds for many years. Empaths, those who have had evolutionary anomalies, even true psychotics. No one I am aware of has ever had the combination of attributes as you. The synesthesia alone is practically one in a billion; it's one of the side effects of the genetic amygdala therapies that such anomalies are almost eliminated. I would expect you to be  _ incapable _ of empathy, not the opposite, a surfeit of it, as you have."

Will was silent for while he pondered the ramifications of this. Finally he asked, "why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"It's not because I want to experiment on you, if that is what you fear. I admit the idea briefly flickered through my mind."

The corner of Will's lip twitched in something Hannibal might have interpreted as disgust.

"You must understand that I felt you would resist and not continue with our sessions if you became frightened. And it is so important for your mental stability to be able to learn to control your gift."

Letting out the breath he was holding in, Will nodded, acquiescing to the validity of this. He likely would not have explored this uncharted system with Hannibal had he known, and the next time someone attacked him? It probably would have been the last. Either he would have let himself be harmed, or he would have quit, Jack be damned. The whole Federation be damned.

They'd only practiced with the pain technique a few more times before it became unnecessary; the internal "visual" queues caused by his unusual perceptions of color were what Will anchored himself with as they progressed in the experimentation. Soon, he was able to recreate the experience by just remembering the pain and pleasure, and he could shut off or turn back on his communion with the large tree in only a matter of seconds. He realized that even being around the tree at first had both drawn and repelled him, and he hadn't known why; now he had come to understand that he recognized it as a non-conscious intelligence.

This was a curious side effect of the therapy. Will had never been comfortable around people, and chalked it up to introversion. But like the tree, they were radiating emotions on a low level, at him, all the time. It was only because the tree was a different type of consciousness that he could focus on it at all. Now, he realized this ability to switch off the empathic sense might make normal interactions more tolerable.

That is, of course, if he learned how to do it with a non-plant consciousness. And the only life form on the ship that fit that description was Hannibal himself.

There was an inevitability to it, and Will wondered if Hannibal hadn't maneuvered them into the situation together somehow. There were many pieces that he would have had to manipulate to make this happen, and although Will didn't doubt the doctor was capable of doing so, it seemed uncharacteristically gauche for him. Will decided that if anything, he was taking advantage of a unique opportunity that had fallen into his lap.

"We need to practice together," Will said flatly.

Hannibal repressed a smile, only one corner of his mouth briefly twitching.

"It seems the only way."

"What should we do?" Will asked, resigned.

Hannibal sat back in his chair for a moment, and his eyes narrowed in thought. "The same as the tree. We will sit together in a place that you regard as pleasant and calming. Then I will call forth various emotions in myself. You will determine what they are, allow yourself to feel them, and then shut them out."

"Where do you suggest?" asked Will.

"Most likely not the conservatory. Too many other potential distractions."

"Your library, then," Will concluded. Hannibal smiled.

"An excellent choice. I will feel most relaxed there as well. Shall we begin?"

"Now?" Will asked, slightly uneasy about Hannibal's eagerness, but understanding the necessity for haste. He knew this could be a long process, and they had limited time.

By way of an answer, Hannibal moved closer, extended his hands, and rested them on Will's knees.

"I will start fairly neutrally and then move on from there. I will concentrate on a particular feeling I have about you. Then you will identify it. Then you will block it from your mind. Yes?"

Will swallowed hard, and Hannibal watched his throat working. But he nodded, and then they began.

“What are you going to do?” Will asked.

“I will start simply. You have felt these things before?”

Will nodded, remembering the times he’d been accidentally receptive to the emotional states of others. It had never occurred to him to try to  _ read _ people before. It seemed…mystical somehow. And invasive. It made him uncomfortable, which must’ve been clear on his face.

“I am inviting you to do this, Will. It isn’t an intrusion.”

Will relaxed a little and took a deep breath. Hannibal maintained the contact he’d initiated. He relaxed his face, making it impossible to read his emotions from his expressions. This was a talent that Will had noticed he possessed uniquely well compared to anyone he'd ever met before. First he looked into Will’s worried eyes, fixing him with a stare that was more like a scientist observing than actively trying to read him.

Just as Will was starting to get some inkling of his thoughts, Hannibal closed his eyes and he lost the thread. He sighed in frustration, but Hannibal gave no outward sign he'd even heard the sound, though he certainly had to have.

But Will understood that reliance upon his expression would not be useful in most circumstances. He had to figure out a way in without it. So instead he paid attention to Hannibal's breathing, and synced it up with his own. Soon, he felt like he was connecting up again. Hannibal's emotions were  _ calm _ . This was a pleasant thing he was feeling about Will at the time. Something that didn't bother him for Will to know. It made him feel warm and somehow proud. In an instant, Will knew exactly what he was feeling.

“Admiration. You respect me because I have fought to remain in a line of work that is very hard for me. You fully understand my struggles dealing with a constant stream of anxiety that I can't always escape, yet I face it anyway. You think I'm brave.”

Hannibal opened his eyes and smiled. Will was hit with another wave, this time entirely internal. He felt  _ understood.  _ And a bit astonished that someone like Hannibal Lecter would admire him, but it was true. There was no way he could be faking it.

Once the wave passed, which had at first energized him, he felt suddenly exhausted. Will put his fingers to the bridge of his nose. Hannibal drew back, both physically and mentally, and let him have his space.

After a few moments of easy silence that was actually comfortable, Hannibal asked, “Are you ready to keep going?”

Will came back into mental focus and nodded. They were both becoming used to each other's moods.

A few more attempts, that proved easier for Will to discern each time, revealed that Hannibal's feelings for Will included respect for his intelligence, deep concern over his well-being, a detached academic sort of interest, and excitement over his unique potential for human evolution. Will had suspected or knew some of these, but to have them all confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt was dizzying. He had never known so clearly what someone else thought of him before.

And yet at the same time, there were things Hannibal held back. This Will could also feel. He decided not to worry about them for now, but to get back to them in the near future.

For now, Will felt more comfortable asking Hannibal some abstract questions about his areas of expertise.

“You have a lot of thoughts about my connection to a larger evolutionary process. I think it would help me understand things if you explained some of this to me.”

Hannibal relaxed, sitting back into his chair, adopting a conversational version of his academic persona.

“An ancestor of mine wrote on the topic of the evolutionary origins of social exclusion. Although his theories connect to mine, I feel that I have a broader understanding of the issue, as so much has been done since the time in which he wrote, to specifically alter human evolution.”

Will knew well what he meant, as the genetically engineered changes to the human brain had resulted in the unforeseen side effect of his unusual abilities.

Hannibal continued: “Before the amygdala was manipulated, and the prefrontal cortex fully understood, many variations existed that we do not see today. Take what was called ‘autism’ – it was treated as a disorder, when it was in fact the beginnings of an evolutionary difference that had not fully materialized. Humans were adapting to changes in social conditions, but inherently, they were not ‘positive’ or ‘negative’ in most cases. The way that the individual’s social group and society reacted to them was what made judgements as to the lack or existence of utility.”

“It's my understanding that ‘autism’ could be accompanied by an overwhelming sense of empathy, that sometimes displayed as an absence of it.”

Hannibal nodded.

“But,” Will asked, “what about an  _ actual _ lack of empathy? Those who were called ‘psychopaths’?”

“Another evolutionary branch. You could call them evolution’s failed experiments.”

Will pondered this for a while, then asked, “The people that are killing now. Are they a return to the evolutionary process that was interrupted?”

“In a sense,” Hannibal said. “As your condition isn't precisely autism, their condition isn't exactly psychopathy. It is accelerated, more intense. They cannot control it.”

“I do see some similarities between them and I if that's the case. The intensity, the difficulty in controlling my connections to others.”

Hannibal nodded. “It may be the case, though, that they have no empathy to activate. Our experiments together have shown that you can potentially turn yours off and on.”

After Hannibal finished saying this, a proximity sensor altered that they had an updated scheduled arrival to the planet they had been traveling to, and Will had no time to consider the implications of what he'd said.

“We will enter into orbit in twelve hours. I suggest we try to relax and get some sleep. Come; I will prepare us a light meal.”

. . . . .

The next morning, Will awoke from an uneasy sleep to the aroma of breakfast. He quickly showered and dressed, getting into his base clothing that was to be worn under an environment suit, and it was tight on his body. He noticed he'd put on a small bit of weight, needed after weeks of not having eaten enough.

He walked into the small kitchen and Hannibal smiled when he saw Will, noticing the same thing. He too was dressed in the black envirosuit base garments, though they looked more elegant on him somehow.

“You’re looking like my cooking agrees with you, Will. But not as if you've rested well. I fear our sessions have been taking their toll.”

Will say and smiled apologetically. “I think they are necessary, but maybe I do need a break.”

Hannibal inclined his head in agreement, and they ate.

About an hour after breakfast, the navigation system let them know they were about to enter orbit. The planet they had come to was small, possibly more correctly classified as a planetoid. Sensors indicated that it had no surface vegetation, but some water and an atmosphere that, while it didn't contain enough oxygen for humans to breathe, wasn't particularly poisonous to them. The settlement they were seeking appeared to be underground. The colonists had the ability to pull in solar energy, water, and air that was breathable once processed.  _ Still _ , Will mused to himself,  _ it must be very dark and quiet in there. _ It made sense to him – if the people were indeed possessed of the capabilities and problems Hannibal had surmised, a peaceful hole in the ground might be more comforting than the loud, crowded space stations he was used to frequenting.

They went up to the flight deck together, where their suits were waiting to be put on after they landed. The surface was perfect for such an expedition; the life signs underground were located near a barren, rocky, flat area away from any water.

Will watched as Hannibal ran the system checks that ensured they could land on autopilot. With no dangerous topographic features to have to watch out for, human participation in the landing wasn't necessary.

Hannibal's hands danced gracefully over the control panels, adjusting the ship’s artificial gravity to the atmospheric pressure as they started their descent. Will guessed the computer could've handled this task as well, but clearly Hannibal liked to finesse it.

They touched down gently. Hannibal winced at the sound of the landing; the ground was much harder than he was used to making planet fall on, and to his sensitive ears, it sounded like the landing gear was grating on it.

“I'm sure it's ok,” Will said. Hannibal smiled, musing that anyone else wouldn't have even noticed his displeasure.

Once Hannibal put the solar engines into gathering mode, they went to the main airlock down the long corridor, hung with Hannibal's art collection. Here, they got their first look with their own eyes at the planet’s surface, out of the large, curved port windows in the exit area. It was black, shiny, as far as the eye could see. There were no mountains or hills. The sky was yellow. Will thought it would make an excellent prison planet.

Each of them put on the one-piece envirosuits and the accompanying helmets. They adjusted the temperature settings (it being hotter on the surface than would be comfortable) and the filtration system that would concentrate the oxygen in the atmosphere as well. Once they were finished, Hannibal set the airlock controls to open for them, and automatically close behind. When they returned, biometric proximity sensors linked to their suits would open the ship for them, and no one else.

“Are you ready?” Hannibal asked, and Will nodded. The round entryway hissed into life, and began to rotate to the right. They stepped out together onto the planet’s smooth, rocky surface. Once clear, the portal slid and clicked back into place with a finality that Will disliked. Hannibal put a hand on his arm, and they went onwards.

The place they needed to go, the source of the signs of machinery and habitation, was less than two kilometers away. They could communicate with each other through the helmet com systems.

“What is this planet called anyway?” Will asked.

“It is not named, only designated as Sigma Orionis C-23. I wonder if the colonists have given it a name. Naming places confers upon them a safety and a familiarity. I suspect the inhabitants desire these attributes.”

Wispy clouds emerged from the ground in yellowish streaks.

“It's horrible here. Probably smells awful. Sulfurous.”

Hannibal smiled at Will’s observation.  _ So tactile, so sensory, even in assessing a potential peril, _ he thought.

They continued on in silence, until they reached a metallic square in the rock. It was also black, like the ground, but of a different texture. Smoother, more regular.

“How do we get in?” Will asked. “Knock?”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal replied, “why not try…”

He bent over and tapped on the metal surface. Almost immediately, they heard a grinding noise as the panel began to lower, and slide into itself. Will took an apprehensive step back.

A cold, blue light emanated from the newly opened gap in the surface. It transformed itself into a staircase, mechanically and smoothly folding outwards, and down, into the rock itself.

“It appears we have been invited in,” Hannibal said. Will didn't perceive the situation as friendly, but they'd come this far. No turning back now.

He straightened up, and descended, Hannibal just behind him.  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will meet the colonists.

Once they had descended the stairs, the source of the blue light became evident. It was glowing from the smooth rock walls, marred only by irregular fissures; the illumination appeared to come from there. It was not a comforting light, but it felt natural, as if a mineral inside brought it forth, and not an artificial invention. Upon further inspection, it  _ flowed.  _ Hannibal and Will followed its path, sloping gently downwards in a narrow corridor towards a decidedly unnaturally smooth, metal door.

The entry had no visible fasteners or bolts, and Hannibal put a tentative hand to it. He withdrew it quickly, and for a moment Will feared he'd been burned. But he quickly decided –  _ felt _ , actually – that the substance was extremely cold to Hannibal's touch instead.

“There's something about this place,” Will said. “I think it's amplifying my sensitivity.”

Hannibal nodded. He was about to comment on this, when the door soundlessly, frictionlessly slid open.

There was nothing left to do except step through the entryway. The corridor had been stark, alien, and strangely  _ technological  _ \- but the room they found themselves in now was its opposite in every way. The air was disturbed behind them with a hiss this time, but it barely distracted them from taking in their new surroundings.

For Hannibal it was slightly more familiar, as the décor wasn't terribly far off from his own, but it was much more ornate, with carved wood stretching out as far as he could see, and there were hundreds more books.

For Will, it was like stepping back in time. He'd seen pictures of spacious old halls and libraries before, and there even were a few ancient castles and manor houses preserved on Earth (though he'd never been to one). But the last thing in the universe that he was ever expecting to see in the depths of a desolate, alien planet was a replica of such a place.

They both made their way cautiously down the middle of the space.

“This must have taken decades to construct,” Will said quietly to Hannibal. The sound was nearly swallowed up by the books and cavernous quality of the place. Hannibal showed an uncharacteristic sense of wonder on his face as he looked around. Will began to feel a strange sense of vertigo, and kept his eyes on the door at the furthest wall, maybe twenty yards away.

When they got closer to the end, a few large, similarly intricate desks and tables sat unoccupied. The only thing that looked out of place were the chrome lamps that cast a focused beam of light on a few open volumes.

Hannibal went to one, and peered down at it.

“These appear to be very old medical illustrations,” he said. “Anatomy of the brain. In fact, I believe I have a reproduction of it. All of these books seem to be originals. Ancient science and physiology. History. The most marvelous collection I have ever seen.”

Will suppressed a smile at hearing the envy in his voice.

“Still,” Hannibal continued, “my tastes in collecting has always tended more towards art, though I have a few original volumes as well.”

As they were perusing the book, the closest door opened slowly behind them. It softly creaked in a way that was wholly unfamiliar to people who lived in age of mechanical frictionlessness.

Hannibal heard it first. He didn't want to alarm Will, so gently put his hand on his wrist. Will understood quickly after a brief moment of confusion at the contact. They both looked at the source of the sound.

The man who entered exuded an air of confidence that unsettled the both of them.

“I see you find my collection interesting,” he said with unnatural ease.

Hannibal remained seated but slowly drew himself upright.

“Most certainly,” Hannibal replied. He gingerly pushed his chair back and stood. His figure, while not large, was lithely muscular and imposing in its grace. Will tried to follow suit as best as he could.

“My name-” he began, but their presumed host cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“I know who you are. Do you think I would have let you both land if I didn't? Dr. Lecter. Mr. Graham, the Sensitive? You've been looking for information on a man who Mr. Graham inadvertently dispatched after he was being held as a murder suspect.”

Hannibal inclined his head, and Will could see him fighting the urge to react to the rudeness.

“Just so. And you have us at a disadvantage.”

The man’s face twitched for a moment, as if he was trying to stifle revealing too much all at once. He twitched, and knocked an unruly sandy blonde curl from his eyes.

“You can call me Mason. Mason Verger. This is my planet. I brought everything here. Unfortunately one of the things I bought here was your suspect, Gaius. He was supposed to be the beneficiary of my unique form of treatment for his condition.”

“It must not be very effective,” Will said, and Hannibal raised an eyebrow at his abruptness.

“Oh it is, Mr. Graham, I can assure you it is. Trouble being he left before the course was complete,” Verger said, not reacting to the tone in Will’s voice.

“And you let him leave? Knowing he was dangerous?” Will continued.

“This isn't a carceral facility. The treatment is voluntary. People come here seeking my help.”

“But you did not alert the Federation of his departure?” Hannibal asked.

“I really didn't know where he'd go. And in the long run, if we got the reputation of getting the Investigators involved, why, no one would trust us enough to come here. We operate on the promise of complete anonymity, now and forever, Amen. It's for the greater good.”

“Even if you know someone might die because an Aberrant is on the loose?” Will asked, growing visibly angry.

Mason smiled, trying to diffuse the situation, but Hannibal saw a maniac malevolence behind his eyes. He took a deep breath, knowing that whatever lay ahead for them here, it would take all his calm and brain power to get through it.

He put his hand on Will’s arm, who seemed to get the message to do the same. His breathing slowed, and his mind began to work.

“…on the other hand,” Will said reasonably, gathering himself, “I think we would be very interested to learn from you.”

This seemed to please Mason.

“I knew you'd be at least curious. Come, I'll introduce you to the others and show you my facility. I'm sure you'll see it as quite the achievement.”

Hannibal and Will stood, and Will gestured politely for Mason to lead the way. Both of them made mental notes to themselves to memorize the layout of every place they saw.

If the library that served as a grand entryway to the underground settlement was a study in anachronistic ostentation, the main area was an equally bizarre technical excess. The walls of the corridor they stepped into were dark, but lined with dimly pulsing filaments.

“Our energy source,” Mason said, mistaking the look of puzzled humor on Hannibal and Will’s faces for being impressed. “There's an extensive network of solar energy distribution nodes, drawn from the collection cylinders that go up to the surface.” They did their best to look pleased, but this way of supplying power was almost gauche; a vision of how the future may have looked to people who imagined it five hundred years ago.

He led the way past a number of these conduits, down to an area closer to the center which opened up to a larger room, which had many doors. The ceiling was a dome, veined with light. At the center of the space were chairs, chaises, tables, all unoccupied. Mason pushed a button on the wall, and the doors lit. Some opened, and people emerged.

They were all human, of many different ancestral backgrounds, but they all shared a similar look in a way that Will and Hannibal found unsettling. Like they'd been out of the light for too long, or were missing a vital nutrient. They blinked even in the thin greenish light that emanated from the walls.

One by one, they passed by, silently sizing up the newcomers, and sat or stretched out.

“These are my friends,” Mason said, gesturing to the sallow people. “I take in anyone who comes here asking for help.”

“What kind of help do you give them, Mason?” Hannibal asked in that simple, straightforward way that Will found impenetrable.

“Connection, of course. The main problem with our contemporary lifestyle is that it can be so lonely at times. Don’t you agree, Mr. Graham?”

Will tried not to look taken aback that Mason would direct this question at him.

“I don’t agree. In fact, I often with for solitude,” he replied.

“Ah,” Mason said, seeming pleased, “the problem is that you feel alone in a crowd, even when you are barraged with the emotions of others you cannot help but be attuned to. But while you might be able to understand their facile concerns, they could never understand you.”

Hannibal interjected, not wanting Will to be subjected to this line of questioning any further.

“That is not all you help them with, Mason. If your methods involved mere community, you would not have needed to take your operation to such a remote and hidden corner of the known systems.”

Mason waved him off as if an unspoken accusation had not just been made. 

“My methods are unusual. We don’t want to have any pesky Investigators coming around, do we?”

“Maybe you can show us your methods,” Will said.

Mason clapped his hands together, clearly delighted. The sound echoed sharply off the dark, enclosed walls. 

“I thought you’d never ask!”

The group of people, ten in number, grudgingly got to their feet. They seemed unhappy to have to provide a display for these interlopers, but also that they dared not disobey. The tallest one, a very light skinned person with eyes so light brown they were practically yellow, came to the front.

“This is Neesha, she’s been with me the longest. Say hello, Neesha.”

She tossed her long black hair out of her face, and extended a reluctant hand. To Will and Hannibal it seemed her flesh should not be as cold as it was. 

Will asked her, “How has being here helped you?”

She towered over him as she drew herself up to her full height. Will found her intimidating, but naturally so; she wasn’t trying to make herself out to be something she wasn’t, as he thought Mason might be attempting. 

“I spent most of my younger years being treated by NeuroPsychs, like this one here. I know what he is. I can smell them. You don’t smell like one.” She spoke in short, concise thoughts. 

“I’m not one,” Will responded, “but you seem to have a bad history with them.”

“They couldn’t help me. With my problem. I’m sure you want to know what it was. It was the same as everyone else here. I felt violent thoughts. Sometimes I acted on them. It was isolating in our society. I was seen as a failed experiment. They didn’t have a place for me. Mason did.”

Mason interjected, “I’ll tell them what they did to you, my dear. You see, Neesha was an experimental subject. When the genetic changes that had been introduced into our species didn’t take hold, they implanted a device into her brain that caused an overload of adrenaline to flood her system every time she had a violent impulse. It was meant to put her in a state of terror. However, instead of preventing the aggressive feelings, it caused a flight-or-fight feedback loop that damaged her psychologically.”

Will looked quizzically at Hannibal. He answered his unspoken question.

“It is true that there have been many failed attempts at rectifying the Amygdala Drift Problem, as it is known as. I anticipate everyone else here had similar experimentations done in their younger years.”

Mason nodded eagerly. “That and more. Some were surgically altered, some had behavioral techniques imposed. But all of them represent unsuccessful attempts.”

“Were they just released?” Will asked. “Allowed to wonder the galaxy?”

“Yes,” Neesha answered. “When we became adults. When it was clear we were not going to comply with the genetic standards, we were assigned jobs on far-away places. Maintenance stations. Exploration pods. Anything to keep us Aberrants away from the core systems.”

“After all, they couldn’t be disposed of,” Mason said. “That would be impossible to do, given the fact that the doctors and administrators could not kill. But after a time, they heard whispers of a place that would truly help them, without trying to change who they are. I only help them manage themselves, and recover from the cruel things that were done to them in the name of keeping an orderly society.”

“How many are there? Who were released?” Will asked.

“In our facility, just these ten, and myself. I too was included in their number as a child. But as to the total, that I cannot say. I guess I’ve treated and released at least three or four dozen lost souls over the past three years. You’d have to ask Dr. Lecter if he knows more.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ll get to that. But how do you know your process is permanent? Or that it doesn’t have any lasting side effects? What happens if someone leaves before they’ve completed the treatment?”

Mason waved him off, as if these weren’t crucial, potentially civilization-ending questions. 

“Too many things to talk about. We should all sit down to a meal. Come, I’ll show you to quarters where you can relax for the duration of your stay at our esteemed establishment.”

Will and Hannibal glanced at each other, and decided not to protest. The others filed into another corridor, as Mason showed them to a spacious, but cold room in the opposite direction.

“We all share duties equally here, so I’ll be helping prepare the evening meal,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone and come for you when it’s ready. I’m sure you have a lot to talk about.” He left with a flourish, a smug affectation of bowing slightly as he backed to the door, as if he was an attendant at an ancient castle.

When they were finally alone, Hannibal sat while Will paced.

“You knew about this?” He asked, trying not to sound too accusatory, and not entirely succeeding. 

Hannibal looked at Will evenly.

“I knew about it because I have treated patients like it. You knew this, of course. What you did not know is that younger people are released to fend for themselves. I have no control over this policy, and I have not treated younger patients for several years for this reason. I do not wish to participate in these programs, but there is little I can do to influence the Federation. Now we know that the failed experiments are leading to some of the former patients to seek out desperate cures, and that they fail. When they do, they go out and kill. After what happened on Delta 5, Jack will have had to report the incident and by now the news will have spread.”

“Then why did he send us here? Why not just send the whole force of the Federation?”

“Maybe he thought we could learn something and report back, without it getting out and causing a panic. Then come after them if the fears are confirmed, and they have evidence.”

“Or to send them after us if we go missing. Then it’s justified, isn’t it?”

“You think he set us up?” Hannibal asked.

“I think he intentionally put us in harm’s way. I don’t think he considers us disposable, so he must think we can handle whatever is coming.”

“If we are to do that, we must be united, Will. Please promise me that whatever happens here, we will not be pitted against each other. I assess that such a technique is a major one in Mason’s arsenal.”

Will finally sat, next to Hannibal. They looked outwards together, but Will tried to reach out to feel Hannibal’s thoughts. He felt only sincerity. 

Slowly, he relaxed, slumping a little and letting the tension go. 

“OK. So what do we do then?”   
  
“I think Mason will involve us in his experimentation. We have to go along with it. He will try to divide us. I want you to go along with what he tells you to do. Whatever it is, know that I will not hold anything against you. We must learn more about what is going on here.”

Will recoiled a little. “Do you think he’ll make me hurt you?”   
  
“I think he may. I know that is the last thing you will want to do, but I can control my emotions almost as well as you can. I will be fine.”

They sat in silence together for a few minutes, before Mason came and got them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mason and his followers reveal themselves.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your rest,” Mason said.

“I have something to ask you before we go to dinner,” Will said. “Are we free to leave? If we decided to go, for any reason or at any time, would you let us?”

Mason tried to keep himself collected, but before he could completely shied his emotions, his eyes widened involuntarily. Just like what had given Gaius away.

“I would like to answer in the affirmative without hesitation, Mr. Graham, but there are a number of factors to consider. First you are affiliated with the Federation, which may not look upon me kindly. I wouldn’t want you telling tales about us, and we wind up raided. That wouldn’t do at all, now would it?”

Hannibal stood and subtly drew himself up to his full and somewhat imposing height.  _ An act of dominance, _ Will thought.

“I certainly understand your situation, Mason. But if you kept us prisoner, they’d find us and your predicament would surely worsen.

Mason briefly stared him down, and failed to stop his eyes from displaying a glint of malevolence before waving Hannibal off.

“Of course, of course,” he said glibly. “But we are friends here and shouldn’t have to discuss such  _ unpleasant  _ considerations before you’ve even seen what it is I do. Besides I neglected to mention that this planet is subject to frequent magnetic dust storms. Unfortunately one is going on at the moment and it’s quite impossible for ships to take off under these conditions.”

Will stood now. “You did neglect to mention that. How long will it last?”

“Hard to say, hard to say...sometimes they go on for hours, sometimes days. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the readouts.”

He went to a panel on the wall, and a display slid open at his touch. It showed the planet’s surface. At first it was just a yellow blur, but then the scene became clearer. It showed dark swirls of matter spiraling up to the sky, before darkening the viewscreen once more. 

“As you can see, it’s very bad out there. We have some calculations to forecast its duration, but they are sadly inaccurate. Best estimate now is that this one will last for two standard days, but sometimes they taper off early.”

Will let out a sigh of resignation.

“Let’s go to dinner,” he said, relenting from his line of questioning. Hannibal had made a compelling case for going with the flow of things, and he had no other options.

When they got to the rest of the group, Hannibal and Will tried not to look too amused at the scene laid out before them. Though all the furnishings were upholstered in drab colors, it still managed to appear outlandish and out of place. Ornately carved dark wood, chairs with canopies made of gargoyles, tufted couches...none of it was remotely practical for such a facility. In fact, it was a dark mirror version of the library vestibule that served as an entryway. Just as overdone, but aesthetically in alignment with the bleak atmosphere of the living quarters.

They sat next to each other on a wooden bench with arms that resembled enormous crows.

Laid out before them were equally bizarre plates, goblets, and utensils. Other than in color, they did not match. Each had patterns of diseased plants, reliefs of things that looked poisonous. It was unappetizing to say the least, but it complemented the food nonetheless.

“You have no agricultural products here, Mason?” Hannibal asked. None of the food looked natural or plant-based, which was the opposite of what most contemporary meals looked like - lots of fresh vegetables and soy, mushroom, and legume proteins. The food laid out was all in paste or shapeless block form.

“I find plant life to be too distracting for what I am trying to do here. My friends would have to tend to them in order for us to grow them for food. Often highly developed individuals such as these can read and feel plants, and they may find themselves using that as a substitute for my therapy.”

“You don’t find that plants augment the therapeutic process?” Will asked. “I have found them quite calming and helpful when I’m having an...episode.”

One of the others spoke up, a small man with long red hair. “We don’t need anything but each other.” His voice was quiet and robotic.

“Antonin is right,” Neesha replied. “It is a false connection. My old therapists tried to use them. I didn’t like it.”

“Certainly we are not as familiar with your methods,” Hannibal said in a conciliatory and diplomatic tone. “Please, tell us more about the history of your colony here.”

Mason smiled, clearly pleased to be afforded the opportunity to brag.

“I started helping people since I wasn’t getting the help I needed. My father had a significant amount of independent wealth, and separated from the Federation when I was very young. I had more diverse experiences after he introduced me to new cultures and experiences that were not bound by the ethical guidelines that he found too  _ restrictive. _ ”

“How did he gain this wealth?” Will asked.

Mason made that dismissive gesture again. “Oh, trading. This and that. Working with civilizations that the Federation considers unworthy. So when he died, he passed his fortune on to me, and I was able to secure the things necessary for me to do my work. Even in this age, money and connections can do wonders.”

As the others listlessly started eating their unappetizing food, Hannibal and Will decided the diplomatic thing to do would be to join them. Besides the general lack of anything that resembled food, there wasn’t much that approximated any actual tastes either. Hannibal reflected to himself that it reminded him of the 19th and 20th century “Clean Living Movement” where bland foods were emphasized so as to not inflame the senses. In this case, however, the method was employed to bind the subjects together and give them few sensory distractions.

Will tried not to grimace as he ate, knowing it was hard for him to not display his emotions on his face. Most of it was akin to eating unflavored soy curd. An odd silence descended upon the group as he positively radiated disgust.

Trying to break the mood, Will asked, “What do you call this place?”

“The planet? We haven’t felt the need to name it. Home is the group, not the place.”

Given what Hannibal had said earlier, they found this strange, but did not voice it.

Mason interrupted their musings.

“We had a group session scheduled for this evening. I’d rather like it if you joined us.”

“Of course, Mason,” Hannibal said. 

“We wouldn’t miss it,” added Will.

. . . . . 

After the evening meal, everyone went back to their small rooms to rest and prepare. About an hour later, Neesha came and fetched the visitors. She led them to a large, but somehow even more oppressively dark room, its walls a dull grey.

Mason was sitting in a corner on a mat, and he appeared to be meditating. The rest of them were seated, lined in equal rows on two narrow, metal benches. Neesha wordlessly gestured to Will and Hannibal to take a seat at the ends of them, opposite each other. She sat at an empty space closest to Mason.

All the colonists looked down at the floor. Will and Hannibal tried to do the same, but couldn’t help stealing glances at Mason and the others. The think that most unnerved them was that they all appeared to be breathing in sync.

The intentionality of that fact was confirmed when Mason at last took a deep breath through his nose, raised his head, and opened his eyes. The others did the same without seeing he was doing it.

Simultaneously they all turned to look at a small, nervous man who had been introduced to them at dinner as Blix. He tried to meet Mason’s gaze, sitting up straight, but eventually gave up, slumping on the bench and looking resignedly at his feet. They didn’t quite reach the floor, giving him a childlike appearance despite his thinning hair.

“How long has it been since you shared with us, Blix?” Mason asked.

“Bout three weeks,” he responded sullenly. He seemed to be regressing even further.

“You know you need help. We can all feel your tension, and if we can feel it, you’re vulnerable to others’ influence. You know what happens when people invade your mental defenses. We need you well and sound before you can leave.”

“I know.” More resignation. Will had to admit to himself that he had no trouble whatsoever reading this man’s emotional state, and gathered that this meant he’d act out against anyone who tried to manipulate him.

Blix rubbed at his temples. At first it seemed to Hannibal like an ordinary reaction to stress, but something seemed unusual about it. It was too precise, his movements calculated. After he’d done it for a while, his posture became more determined. 

The man set his jaw, stood, and walked to a panel on the wall behind Mason. He pressed it, and the surface separated. Soundlessly, sections flipped over, revealing several restraints. He turned, his back to the wall now, and leaned against it. 

Neesha, the tallest of the group, went to him, and affixed his limbs into the bindings. When she was done, Blix was standing with his legs shoulder width apart and his arms straight above his head. 

Will was uncomfortable just looking at him; the vulnerability made his skin crawl.

Mason walked up to him, and stood before Blix for a long time. Several minutes crawled by in a heavy silence. Then, as if they had revived a silent cue, the rest of the group began a muttering hum, like a strange whispered chant. Mason reached up, ridiculously on tiptoes, and stroked the part of Blix’s temple that he had been massaging before.

He stopped and turned to face the group, and said: “He is ready.”

. . . . . 

Later, alone in their chamber, Hannibal wanted to talk to Will about what they’d witnessed, but got the distinct impression it wasn’t up for discussion just yet.

It had been violent. And violating, in ways that Will found hitting far too close to home. The group members, Mason’s little cult, had taken turns touching him with some kind of electronic device that caused him immense pain, on various sections of his body. Each time Mason had taunted him, trying to raise his level of anger. But Blix controlled it. It seemed as if it had been some kind of test. Mason asked him questions, things about his past, that Blix answered as evenly as possible through gritted teeth. Questions about his upbringing, being left in an institution on a colony planet when he was ten. How had he managed to escape again? The story had obviously been told many times before, and Blix clearly hated retelling it. Something unsavory about being in a Cygnan’s employ, doing things that earned his passage off the colony at age 19 that he didn’t want to relive.

But the worst part was that to both Hannibal and Will, what they’d done to him was clearly meant as a demonstration of more to come. When they’d taken Blix down, about two hours later, he was smiling and glassy-eyed. Almost  _ grateful _ for the abuse.

They knew that one of them would be next.

Knowing Will didn’t want to specifically go over what they’d seen, Hannibal talked about a more technical subject.

“The way they touched their temples. Will, what do you think was that gesture’s significance?”

“I think you already have some ideas,” Will replied grimly.

“Yes. The implants. Activating a kind of feedback loop. The animal brain grafts. We need proof though, to take to Jack.”

Will came to a swift and rather irritating conclusion: “We’ll have to take one of them won’t we?”

“Yes,” Hannibal replied. “And I very much doubt Mason will let us leave easily if we do so.”

“So what do we do? Kidnap one of them? Convince one to quietly come with us after the storms stop?”

“Did you notice how the young one at the end looked uneasy about participating?”

“The one called Marna, with the shaved head? I did get some strong feelings of terror and the desire to flee. They also seem to be the least connected to the group. Do you think we can convince them to come with us?”

“I think we’ll have to, Will.”

That night, they made their plan. They decided to try to talk to Marna discreetly somehow during the morning meal, and remain cooperative until it was safe to leave.

Both of them slept uneasily that night, Will’s dreams filled with scenes of torture. Although he was not the victim, and the face was obscured, he had the uncomfortable impression that it was Hannibal who was tied to the wall in his nightmare.

. . . . .

As it turned out, they needn’t have worried about having a chance to talk to Marna alone. Right before everyone was about to eat what passed as breakfast, a number of klaxons went off. 

Blix rolled his eyes, huffing, annoyed to be denied his meal. Apparently he was in charge of fixing this particular problem. Interestingly, Will had figured him for an engineer.

“Neesha, Alex, Tem. I need you to get to your stations. Antonin, Drea, Kelber - check the other three hatches. Hideo and Jal - get the coolant canisters and some oxygen.”

Even though he hadn’t assigned Mason a task, he went to supervise. Marna slumped in their chair.

When the room was clear, Will asked them, “They haven’t given you any responsibilities? Do you know what’s going on?”

Marna toyed with one of the strange utensils, poking at the greenish grey cube of nutrient before them. “The storm has infiltrated one of the outer seals. They have to suit up and get into one one of the airlocks to fix the magnetic seal. And no they haven’t. They think I’m too young and clumsy to help.”

“Are you?” asked Hannibal sympathetically. 

“The reason I’m here in the first place is that I washed out of my assignment on a fueling station. I don’t have any mechanical aptitude and they stuck me there anyway. So naturally Mason and his supplicants think I can’t even hold a canister without dropping it.”

“You don’t like it here,” Will said.

“Is it that obvious?” they responded sarcastically.

“What would happen if you left?” Hannibal asked.

“Why, are you offering to take me away?” Marna said, imitating something like a damsel in distress by putting their hand under their chin. It looked like an odd gesture coming from them, unnatural.

“That depends,” said Will. “We know you have strong antisocial tendencies, or else you wouldn’t be here. We’d need to basically turn you over to the authorities investigating Mason once we get away. You wouldn’t be free, at least not immediately.”

Marna lost their bluster, sinking down once again.

“I guess it would be better than here. I thought this place was my last resort, but it’s not for me.”

“We can’t leave just yet, but we will take you if you wish,” Hannibal said.

Marna tried to suppress a deranged smile.

“You may want to try to get away sooner even with the storm. Mason has something  _ unpleasant  _ planned for you.”

Will and Hannibal looked at each other uneasily. 

“I think we anticipated that,” Will said.

“Marna, when would be a good time for us to depart undetected?”

“Before tonight’s session I would think. Storm should be waning by then, and the rest of that lot will be too busy preparing to notice.”

“You’re sure?” Will asked. “And more importantly, are you with us?”

Marna rubbed their temple in that same curious way that the rest of them did.

“Yeah. Sure as I can be about the former, and definite about the latter.”

They could hear footsteps coming down the hallway, so sealed their agreement with silent nods.  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will plan their escape, and deal with the consequences of what they have experienced together.

Just like the previous time, there was a buzz and a sense of anticipation that came before the activities that the group were about to participate in. Unlike the last time, the Aberrants had a hard time hiding their emotions. Even Hannibal, who was nowhere near as sensitive as Will, could read them; they seemed smug and barely able to contain themselves. Just as Marna had said, something nasty was in the future for their interlopers.

And also as Marna predicted, the planetary conditions were improving. They had no doubt Hannibal’s ship would be able to handle a departure, if they were able to reach it.

They’d made a plan to meet at the room the two of them had been staying in; while the door was secured, Will had no difficulty short circuiting the control panel, as he was no stranger to locked rooms. Marna’s duties preparing for the evening were limited to fetching equipment, and as such their absence wouldn’t be discovered immediately. From there, they’d proceed in the opposite direction of where everyone was.

At first, everything went smoothly. Will got them out just as Marna appeared at the junction that brought one to the “arm” of the hallway their chamber sat on. The whole facility, it seemed, was laid out like a mechanistic squid, with the hub of activity leading to the main gathering places at the center.

But just as they reached the end of the corridor to the strange library from which they’d first entered, a panel slid shut in front of them so fast and quietly, it almost appeared to blink into existence.

Will felt an uncharacteristic swell of fear from Marna - they had been calm, entirely sarcastic up until that point, seemingly not taking the whole situation very seriously. Something had changed drastically. Will shot a glance at Hannibal, who only looked grim and determined.

Several sets of footsteps echoed in gradual intensity behind them, and they turned to see Mason and Neesha, and a few of the others backing them up, their faces obscured by featureless masks. Their slow, steady pace was even more unnerving than the blankness of his acolytes.

They formed a phalanx behind Mason and Neesha (to the extent that the narrow hallway allowed), and came to a simultaneous halt in front of the three fugitives.

Mason tutted in exaggerated disappointment.

“Marna. We had done so much for you. You came so far.”

At first Will thought they’d make their apologies, supplicating themself in front of their captor. But they raised their head in defiance, drawing themself up to their full height.

“‘Done for me’? This is worse than when I was younger. At least there I knew they were just caretaking until they could get rid of me. No pretending. What you do here is for yourself,  _ Mason.”  _ They practically spat his name at him.

Mason smiled mirthlessly. He waved a dismissive hand.

“No matter, no matter. Bring all of them.”

The three of them made no moves to resist as they were each taken by the arm in turn and led back to the section where their strange ceremonies took place.

This time, there were two sets of restraints out - a simple one, like the last time, and a more complicated one, that included more sections of bonds, as if to more securely hold the wearer.

“I’m very sure my procedures have no effect on you Marna, but we will still have to restrain you for the time being.”

The others ushered them to the more basic of the set of bonds, which they looked resigned to, but ultimately relieved that the group’s attentions wouldn’t be focused on them.

Will and Hannibal looked at each other. There was only one set of bindings left, and they had to be meant for one of them. At that moment a silent agreement passed between them. Whatever occurred, they would not let it break their connection.

Blix took Hannibal and moved him over to the other set-up. He removed his shirt, and shoved him into the bindings, taking great care to ensure each one was cruelly tight. Finally he pushed Hannibal’s head back onto a support, and encircled his forehead with a metal band. Hannibal was positioned to look only forward, and could not move his head.

“Are you planning on killing us, Mason?” Hannibal asked.

Mason laughed a little too gleefully at the suggestion.

“No, no, no. Don’t be absurd. If we did that, I’m sure the Federation would be on us eventually. But I’m sure they aren’t expecting you both back anytime soon, I’m guessing.”

“Of course they are.” Will tried to say this as confidently as he could, but the group of Aberrants had enough sensitivity to know he was bluffing. A few of them giggled.

“No, Will they won’t. They probably thought it would take you weeks to find us, and there’s no way you filed any plans or communicated with them or else everyone would know about it, wouldn’t they? The lovely Openness Decree. It’s certainly helped keep us hidden more than once, ironically. They wouldn’t want the citizens to know that their perfect society doesn’t work for everyone. We have plenty of time to see what our techniques can do for you.”

Although the restraints on his head made it difficult to talk, Hannibal wanted to keep Mason talking.

“How long are you planning on keeping us here?”

“From what I’ve calculated, you could easily be our guests for a month before they came looking for you, and at least another two after that before there was any chance of them coming close to finding us. I think three months here would do you both a world of good.”

Even though Will had noticed what Hannibal had done, it was evident that Mason or his followers hadn’t. Even though the binding on his head was metal, the ones on his body were not. Hannibal had flexed his considerable musculature to its greatest size when he was bound; once he completely relaxed, it was very likely that he could take them by surprise and slip the bonds. He could wait until a weapon was in reach, or one of them, and effect some technique to escape. He looked at Will, to make sure they were in understanding with each other; he wanted Will to go along with whatever Mason wanted him to do until the time was right.

Neesha handed Will an instrument. It was different from what they had used on Blix. It was longer, more mechanical than electronic. Blunter, less exact. 

“I’m supposed to use this on Hannibal?” Will asked in a controlled voice.

Mason practically shuddered with pleasure at the thought of explaining to Will what he wanted him to do.

“Yes, Will. You see, one of the techniques I have devised is that the subject - that would be you - benefits from inflicting pain on someone who they have had positive emotional connections with previously. The first step is that normally I would require my patients to be sexually intimate with each other before reaching this step. We don’t have time for it in this case, and I trust you two haven’t gotten up to anything while you were looking for us. That would be  _ quite _ unprofessional,” Mason said salaciously.

Will looked away from Hannibal at that point. He  _ did  _ feel an emotional connection to this man, despite himself. Hannibal had helped him more than anyone had in his entire life. Even Jack, who had been a great mentor, in some ways just wanted to use him, rather than take away his pain.

Fortunately for Will, Hannibal sensed his discomfort and answered instead.

“No, Mason. But we have had a prior relationship, and I expect you think that will be an adequate substitute.”

“Quite so. When Will here is forced to confront your pain, he will have to blunt his engorged sensitivity. He will have to learn to do it quickly, or suffer too much himself. A bit like throwing someone into the water to teach them to swim.”

“Does anyone ever drown?” Will asked through gritted teeth.

Mason hesitated before answering. It was a tiny crack in his facade that hadn’t emerged before. 

“If you mean to ask if my techniques have ever failed, the answer if yes. Some, like Marna here, do not let them work, and they leave. Others do not survive the procedure. I am sure, Dr. Lecter, that you know the pain of losing a patient. But that doesn’t mean that you don’t try to cure them.”

Clearly wanting to end this conversation, Mason nodded to his disciples who took hold of Will and pushed him forward, just inches from Hannibal; he looked Will in the eyes, and silently granted him permission to do what Mason was forcing him to do.

Will immediately pictured the garden on Hannibal’s ship. He used it to center and ground his consciousness. Instead of seeing his arm raise - despite the fact that he was looking right at it - he saw the sprawling tree in the conservatory. 

He struck Hannibal with the instrument on the arm. He quickly learned it wasn’t merely just a heavy object that was meant to deliver bruising blows; somehow it caused a reverberation of pain to start from the place it connected with his flesh, and ripple throughout his body. Hannibal’s eyes briefly and partially rolled back, before he regained full composure. Mason was impressed but displeased.

Will was Will even closer as if to encourage him to do more. This time he connected with Hannibal’s chest, which seemed to inflict more pain. He opened his mouth as if to cry out, but stifled it nevertheless.

Exasperated, Mason stepped forward and took Will’s arm, forcing him to deliver a series of blows in quick succession, giving Hannibal no time to recover and brace himself for the next.

Will’s motions and the real scene were superimposed, like a malfunctioning viewscreen that tried to display two locations at once. When reality started to take hold, he saw the red-bright-pain that Hannibal was experiencing. He knew how to push it back, to the blue, then the green, that he felt when Hannibal had been helping him back on the ship.

One important thing that Mason didn’t know was that they had already been practicing this unusual technique for some time. He was so convinced that his methods were the only way to do things, that he couldn’t imagine another way, let alone a superior one. He grew increasingly upset that this wasn’t getting to either of them, that he became careless, and didn’t notice that Hannibal was more able to move in his bonds than he should have been.

But somewhere in between the parts of Will’s mind that were warring to maintain control, there was something else. Something he hadn’t anticipated experiencing. When Mason has been talking about how his subjects had to engage in a sexual relationship, Will had found it extremely distasteful that Mason clearly delighted in this form of control. He felt the same disgust from Hannibal at that moment. 

Will’s concentration regarding what was happening now made it impossible not to let his mind wander in other directions, whether he wanted it to or not. And part of him began to wonder what it would like to have a relationship like that with his friend. Not under these horrific circumstances, of course, but in the comfort of the ship...perhaps in the garden…

He shook it off as a way that his mind tried to cope, but the seed had been planted. The thoughts excited him, and he almost let his other defenses slip trying to fight it off. He didn’t want to think what Mason would do if he saw that Will had become physically aroused. Fortunately, he succeeded. Part of him knew he’d have to deal with these thoughts later on, when they were safe. 

It was good that Will acted quickly, because as he allowed himself a few seconds to process his thoughts, Hannibal made his move. Despite the pain he was experiencing, he somehow managed to relax his muscles and control his breathing enough to constrict his body just enough for him to slip his hands free. They hadn’t secured the band around his head, and he took advantage of his captors’ shock and surprise just long enough to rip it away.

Will had to exercise the greatest amount of compartmentalization he had ever tried to carry out in his life. He was feeling so many conflicting emotions but knew that he had only seconds to react. While Hannibal had freed himself, in a flash, he’d essentially taken Neesha hostage, holding her by the neck with one hand, with the instrument Will had been using on him in the other. He turned away from Hannibal, putting his fate in the other man’s hands.

At the same time, Marna was already backing up towards the entryway; no one’s attention was on them, as the rest of the group was deciding what to do. 

The moment of truth was at hand. Instead of trying to help Neesha, Mason turned his attention onto Will.

“You can’t hurt me, Will. Any more than you could cut off your own limb. It’s not in your nature - when you were born, you had this thing inside your head...-“ 

He dashed at his temple with his fingers for emphasis. It made his hair thrash, and Will’s perception slowed as the pale, wan light of the chamber made it glint like the edge of a knife.

“...just like everyone here. All you had to do was let me carve it out, and then you would be free! You could be free to squeeze the life out of me if you wished. But you can’t. You’re are a mutated, failed experiment, just like the Federation itself.”

Will permitted himself a second, but only a second, of self recrimination and pity at his comments; in a way it was true, but Mason’s undoing was what Will had already done to fix himself, with the help of the doctor who needed him now. He let that debt fuel him as he acted.

To Mason and his followers, it seemed sudden. But to Will, it took an agonizing eternity. He found the memory of the colors in his mind, the red which he felt now, out of control, and pushed it away. He turned it to a relaxed hue of green and azure, and he felt his spine straighten and align. He became almost perceptibly taller.

Mason saw Will’s eyes change, but too late. His own pupils dilated but he did not see the what was coming.

Will’s arm shot out and around the back of Mason’s head, where he grabbed him by the hair. His other hand simultaneously formed a fist, which forcefully met Mason’s face. His nose was broken instantly, and he shrieked as blood poured from it in a bright red gout. 

The others, unaccustomed to seeing such violence in an uncontrolled manner, had no idea how to react. Will hauled Mason over to the wall, which he slammed the sobbing man into, rendering him unconscious.

Will released him, and Mason slumped to the floor. His followers recoiled, giving Hannibal the space to back towards the door, still holding Neesha. Will darted through it; Hannibal released his hostage and flung her forcefully towards the others; he backed out, and Marna slammed it shut.

“How long until they manage to get out?” Will asked over the din of their boots clattering down the hallway, as they headed for the book-filled exit to the facility. They’d have to get some gear on to be able to withstand the waning storm, and Hannibal was only wearing thin pants of light fabric.

“I locked the door controls, but it will only buy us a few minutes. There’s a storage locker with some enviro suits in the chamber just past the books,” Marna shouted. 

They rounded the corner to the exitway, and shut that behind them too, this time with Will overriding the panel.

“That should get us a few more,” Hannibal said. “Mason will regain consciousness and they will surely pursue.”

They ran past the wooden furniture, so out-of-place and jarring compared to where they had just been, and what they had just experienced.

Past that, they entered the final passageway which led to up to the surface.

The next few minutes were a blur of getting the suits on. They all thought they would hear Mason’s people coming after them at any moment, but it never happened. They ran up the slope, and Marna shut the door behind them quickly nevertheless. They ran with heads down to Hannibal’s ship, taking care not to fall, and not daring to look back.

Hannibal got the ship’s entry open with what seemed like unnatural speed. Just as they managed to close the airlock behind them, they felt a great shaking. 

_ No time to speculate what that was, but it seems unusual to say the least,  _ Hannibal thought, just as Will had much the same question in his mind.

All three of them made it to the flight deck just as another violent shudder rocked the ship. Hannibal turned on the outer view screen.

“Is it the storm?” Will shouted over the growing din.

“No way,” Marna yelled in reply. “The storms don’t cycle like that, they drop off gradually.”

Before he could offer any speculation, Hannibal saw the cause: a great cascade of planet-surface dust blown from first stage engines.

“It wasn’t a subsurface facility! It was a spaceship!” Marna cried, shocked. They were right; unbeknownst to any of them, the elaborate library with all its wooden carvings was nothing more than a large airlock leading to the vast interior. Both Hannibal and Will had the same fleeting thought:  _ No wonder they hadn’t bothered to name the planet. _

Hannibal reacted quickly, setting the controls for departure, and moving more nimbly than the big ship, which was still struggling to unbury itself. They had to be clear of its blast range when it lifted from the surface, or they’d be half crushed by the air pressure.

Will had seen him take off enough times to know how best to assist. Besides, there were extra things he needed to do to protect his ship from the potential dust incursion, since the planet storm wasn’t completely over yet. Will programmed the navigation computer while Hannibal extended the extra shielding and made sure the solar collectors were fully withdrawn.

Just as the vibrations from Mason’s ship reached a crescendo, signifying their departure was imminent, Hannibal’s craft lifted off. He shot a look to Will, who finalized his program, and they accelerated, up, off the surface, breaking free of the atmosphere, just in time. Mason’s ship was just visible on the viewscreen, leaving a huge crater in its blast wake. They watched as the two ships, moving in opposite directions, were almost out of close channel communications range; these were not regularly monitored by the Federation.

Just at the last minute, Mason’s ship hailed them. Hannibal opened the channel without saying anything.

“I thought it would be rude to let you go before saying goodbye.” 

Mason’s strange, affected drawl echoed strangely on the small flight deck. Will and Hannibal looked at each other with a mixture of curiosity and loathing.

“I do hope you won’t try to come calling on me, although I can’t expect the same courtesy from the Federation. I did enjoy playing with you, and I only wish we’d been acquainted longer. I’m sure you know that there are others out there who left me before it was time, or who tried to find me and failed. I suggest you focus your attentions on them, or our next meeting won’t be so cordial. One final thing - Mr. Graham is capable of more than he knows. Remember that, Dr. Lecter. Ta-ta!”

The signal fuzzed out, and the channel closed.

. . . . . 

Since neither of them trusted Marna, Hannibal set up some spare but comfortable quarters in a cargo hold where they could stay for the trip back to Delta 5. They had no choice but to risk an open communication with Jack, to rendezvous with him, but left out the details. 

The journey back was hard on Will; the five days it took were almost entirely sleepless for him, and Hannibal realized the conservatory and whiskey alone wouldn’t be enough to get him past what happened, both to him, and between them.

When they met back up with Jack, Hannibal had a proposal, and a plan. They transferred Marna to his custody, and after they’d been individually debriefed on what had happened, Hannibal strongly suggested the three of them have a private meeting.

“How long will you be gone?” Jack asked in irritation. “Despite my best efforts at keeping all this mess quiet, more information than I’m comfortable with has gotten out. It’ll look even stranger if the two of you aren’t around to answer questions.”

“Jack, if Will has to deal with an inquisition, he’ll never recover. An onslaught of queries is exactly what he must avoid,” Hannibal said. 

Will looked on in disdain at being talked about as if he wasn’t in the room. He huffed, and Hannibal brought him more directly into the conversation.

“I am correct, am I not?”

“You are,” Will admitted. “But he’s right, I can’t be gone forever. And where will you take me? And to what end?”

“I have a small base. An small uninhabited planetoid. You seem to react particularly well to unusual plant life, and it exists there in abundance. I suspect there will be many more instances of violent acts, and that the genetic changes are much more wide reaching than anyone suspected. You need to regroup before the next fight, Will.”

Letting out a long defeated sigh, Will nodded.

“How long will this take?” Jack persisted.

“Ever the Commander, Jack,” Hannibal chided. “Perhaps a few days, perhaps weeks. Will’s psyche was pushed to its limits with Mason. I expect the next person like him we encounter will be far worse. If you push Will beyond his limits, he may never return. At least you know that I will bring him back.”

“Ok,” Jack said, “I see your point. Take the time you need, but don’t take too much.”

The meeting over, the three of them stood and said their goodbyes. Once Jack had left, Hannibal asked Will if he’d like to pay a visit to the station bar. Will actually smiled, and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

. . . . .

“You didn’t tell me you have a  _ planetoid _ ,” Will said. They were sitting at the bar, alone this time. Dimmond had left and not returned, likely afraid he’d be given up and questioned. Will thought it likely they’d see him again, given the circles he traveled in.

“I don’t actually own it, Will, you know that is not how things are done. But I’m given exclusive rights to plant research there, and no one else is interested in it. My presence alone is not considered enough to disturb the environment, and no other would be allowed to inhabit it. I myself am only there rarely. Besides, I don’t think we need to discuss my professional activities at the moment.”

Will looked sullenly down at his drink, and said, “I know.”

He still had not told Hannibal what he thought about when he was made to torture him at Mason’s behest. He didn’t want to, but knew Hannibal was sensitive enough to know he was hiding something, and that it would have to come out eventually.

Hannibal was both empathetic and astute enough to know that there would be plenty of time to develop his relationship with Will, which he most certainly wanted to do; while Will was clearly concerned about Hannibal delving too deeply into his mind and desires, it was no less so that Hannibal was concerned about what Will might discover as well.

Still, he decided to risk an incremental step in the direction of furthering their connection. He placed his hand on Will’s shoulder, and, when he did not recoil, said: “I believe we can continue your therapy, and that it will be most helpful. Don’t you agree?”

This time, Will nodded his assent, but gave himself over to hope.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the rest of my work on [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/). Find me on [ Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/DarkDreamsOfHannigram) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DarkHannigram) (and less so now on [tumblr](http://darkdreamsofhannigram.tumblr.com/), which has my Ko-Fi.).


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